


Birdland

by slowcookedvig



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Married & navigating careers, Pet Ownership - Freeform, cockatiel, married!klaine, relationships take work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowcookedvig/pseuds/slowcookedvig
Summary: Blaine's been gone for a month, at the out-of-town opening of his first big show. Kurt misses him. A lot.Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't a good reason to adopt a rescue cockatiel. Especially given the intensity with which those birds can get attached to human companions.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 47
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by Snowball the Cockatoo, dancing to Another One Bites the Dust: https://youtu.be/cJOZp2ZftCw . I decided to switch to a smaller bird, a cockatiel, after reading about how affectionate cockatiels are. And how they can learn to carry a tune: https://youtu.be/4LCP38LGwgk )
> 
> The only deaths referred to in this fic are canonical, and are part of the backstory.
> 
> Rating is somewhere in the mature to explicit range. There is phone sex in the first chapter. It's about at the level of detail that I expect to write in this story.
> 
> In this fic, I'm trying to write a story that (1) centers around an established relationship, (2) doesn't involve any kind of breakup or cheating for tension, (3) is about the relationship, not about time travel or some other action story, and (4) doesn't involve kids. So we'll see how it goes...

In retrospect, Kurt thinks that maybe surprising Blaine with a cockatiel as an anniversary/congratulations present wasn't the best idea that Kurt has ever had.

Last night, the reasoning had seemed brilliant.

1) Blaine still has that bird fetish, the one that dates at least as far back as his time in the Warblers. Seriously, their hottest sex always happens after Blaine has been watching pigeons bobbing their heads at each other.

2) COCKatiel. Ok, so the dirty joke sounded funnier while Kurt was drunk.

3) There are very real things to celebrate. Five years of marriage. Blaine's first big role. And Blaine's return home from the first out-of-town production in his first big role.

Yes, Kurt is a bit jealous. Jealous of Blaine's role. Jealous of the cast and crew and pretty much all those other people who get to see Blaine singing and dancing while Kurt is in New York, hoping that his job at vogue.com won't disappear in the next media consolidation, and working on his scripts at night.

And yes, maybe the bird isn't so much an inside joke as an attempt to stake a claim. As a husband who is just as capable of a grand romantic gesture as Blaine is. And as the person to whom Blaine will come home, now and always, regardless of how many people get to watch him on stage every night.

But the real reason is:

4) Opportunity. And necessity. After all, someone needed to take the bird.

Here's how it happened:

Blaine had been out of town for a month. And then Rachel's latest production went on tour, as well. So when Santana told Kurt to come to the jazz club where she was singing with her latest band, because Brittany was off at some math genius conference, Kurt had agreed. And then he had tried the absinthe. And then Santana had demanded that he join her on stage, because she wanted to do a medley of jazz versions of Indigo Girls songs, and normally she would drag Brittany out of the audience, but Britt wasn't there, and she knew enough of Kurt's secrets to blackmail him into singing with her.

Anyway. Kurt ended up at the after-party with Santana's band, and the drummer was complaining about having irreconcilable differences with his bird, and Santana started making dirty jokes about Warblers, and...

Well. That's where the story begins.

*

Kurt's phone is buzzing. But it's Saturday morning, and he was out late, and it isn't the ringtone he uses for Blaine. So Kurt rolls over and ignores it.

After the third call, he considers silencing the phone. His head aches. Shit. Absinthe is seriously messed up stuff. Santana told him it would help his writing, but Kurt is not planning to write a musical about a pounding head and lights that are too bright. He buries his phone under Blaine's pillow and his head under the covers.

The next sound isn't his phone. It's Santana's voice. And it is in his room.

"Wake up, Hummel," she says. "Your bird is here."

Kurt rolls over and blinks at her. Honestly, it's a surprise that she hasn't shown up in his bedroom before. She and Brittany have had a key to Kurt's apartment ever since that romantic vacation that he and Blaine took last year. (Kurt's first time using a passport. Paris. It was lovely.) Anyway, someone needed to water the plants, and Rachel had been busy with rehearsals for one of her shows, and she wasn't that reliable, anyway. At least Santana keeps things alive. Most of the time.

And now she is in Kurt's bedroom.

Kurt blinks at her. "Blaine isn't going to be back for another two weeks," he says.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Your BIRD, Kurt. Not your WARBLER." She turns and yells at someone out the door. "Just put the cage somewhere. He'll figure it out."

And that's when Kurt realizes that he should probably get out of bed and see exactly what's going on. Santana smirks at his pajamas which, yes, were a Christmas present from Blaine, and yes, they have little hearts on them, and yes, Kurt wears them when Blaine's been gone a long time and Kurt is lonely. And he realizes that heart pajamas and an absinthe hangover are a bit of an odd combination, but that is probably less important than figuring out what's going on with the cage that has apparently been delivered to his living room.

Cage? Kurt blinks, and then remembers. Something about a bird that Santana's drummer had shared with his girlfriend, except the girlfriend left to take a job in LA and the drummer needed someone else to take the bird? He climbs out of bed and stumbles into the living room.

The cage is large. And sitting on the coffee table. And in it, is a bird. Not just any bird - a white and yellow bird, with orange cheeks like it's been badly rouged for some kind of over-the-top production. And with what appears to be a yellow mohawk. It looks like a punk version of a circus clown.

"Hey, man," the drummer says. "Thanks for taking Charlie off my hands."

Kurt nods. Right. Charlie, after Charlie "Yardbird" Parker. He remembers that part of the conversation, just before it turned to an argument about heroin use and racial politics in mid-20th-century jazz, and a long rant from Santana about the mistreatment of Billie Holiday. In the end, Kurt hadn't learned much about the bird except the name.

"The extra food is in the bag. Have fun!" Santana's smile is a bit too bright. It's a warning sign, and Kurt knows it. But he's too tired and hung over to care.

And then they're gone. Kurt stares at the bird. It huddles on the other side of its cage, a couple tufts of its mohawk sticking up. And then it turns, looks at the door, and squawks.

*

The squawking doesn't stop. Or rather, it stops and starts at intervals. Kurt goes into the bathroom to take a shower; a squawking bird and a hangover would be a bad combination in the best of times. The door and the running water cut the sound a bit, and it's enough to start clearing Kurt's head.

Of course, a clear head isn't necessarily a good thing. Because with clarity come some key memories. For example, Kurt has had a grand total of ONE pet in his life. And yes, it was a bird. And it only survived a few months in his care. And maybe Kurt got a relationship out of that tragedy, but that doesn't negate the fact that the bird died. Kurt was responsible for its sweet little life, and it died. And, holy shit, he has just agreed to care for another living, breathing creature, and what if he kills it or hurts it or otherwise makes it miserable?

Kurt pads out of the bathroom, dressed only in his robe. The bird stops squawking and stares at him. So maybe that's a good thing?

The shower reminded Kurt of the key things that every pet needs: food and water. So he checks the water dish, and finds that there's a big puddle on the bottom of the cage. The water must have spilled while Santana's friends were bringing it into Kurt's living room. Which means that Kurt needs to stick his hand into the cage, take out the water dish, put water into it, and reattach the dish to the wall of the cage.

Right. It can't be so bad.

Kurt opens the door and sticks his hand in. The bird steps backwards on its perch, flattens its mohawk onto its head, and snaps its beak. Kurt grabs the water dish and pulls it out as fast as he can, because that did NOT look like friendly behavior. The bird's crest straightens after Kurt withdraws, but it keeps staring at him.

"Hey there," Kurt says, a bit tentatively. "Nice bird. Have some water. Good bird."

And then he sits down at his laptop and googles _food for cockatiels_. Because there isn't much in the bag of extra food, and he has no idea where to even buy more.

*

Kurt hears the squawking before he opens the door. The bird's mohawk rises as Kurt comes in, but drops when the bird sees him.

"Hi there," Kurt greets it. "Look what I got for you." He puts the grocery bags on the floor and starts unpacking them. "Here's some bird seed. And this stuff is called millet." He puts it on the coffee table. "And also some spinach. Because both you and I could use some dark green leafy vegetables in our diets. And this is coffee. That's for me. Same goes for the bread, and the eggs, and the chocolate." The bird's mohawk rises slightly. "Don't judge me," Kurt says. "My husband's been out of town for a month." He digs in the bag again. "And... look! I got us a cantaloupe to share. I had a bagel while I was out, but a little fruit for brunch would be good for both of us."

The bird watches him as Kurt carries the food into the kitchen. When he disappears, the bird starts squawking again. Kurt tries to ignore it as he searches for one of the big knives, spins it around a few times, and starts slicing the cantaloupe. He considers putting a garnish on the plate, but decides that might be a bit much. Especially because some of the pieces are going into the bird's food dish.

"Ok," Kurt says, putting the plate on the coffee table beside the bird cage. "I'm going to open your cage and put some nice cantaloupe in."

The bird cowers in the corner of the cage as Kurt opens the door. Its mohawk sticks straight up, and it looks like the bird is sucking in all of its breath, trying to make itself as small as possible.

"I'm just giving you some food," Kurt says. "Yum." He picks up his own fruit and takes a bite. "See? Mmmm."

The bird still watches him from the corner of its cage, not looking quite so scared and skinny anymore. But it doesn't go anywhere near the food.

Kurt finishes his cantaloupe and picks up the plate. "It's ok if you don't like being watched while you eat," he says. "I'll leave you alone."

As he takes his dish back into the kitchen, the bird starts squawking again.

*

Kurt's alarm goes off at precisely 2:07 pm. He smiles to himself, goes into the bedroom, closes the door, and sets up his laptop on the bed.

In two minutes, his computer buzzes for a video chat.

"Hey, you." Blaine's face is tiny on the screen, but his smile is as big as ever.

"Hey to you, too," Kurt replies. "How's the show?"

"Still going well," Blaine says. "Though we had a talker last night."

"Cell phone, or friend in the audience?" Kurt asks.

"Cell phone," Blaine replies.

"You didn't go all Cassie July on them, did you?" Kurt teases.

"I stayed perfectly professional." Blaine shifts on the screen, as if he is sitting up straighter. "Well, actually, I flubbed a line. But I stayed mostly professional."

Kurt chuckles. "Two more weeks," he says. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in person."

"Yeah?" Blaine's eyebrows lift. "Same here. You know what I'm going to do when I get there?"

Kurt smiles. This is the good part. He lies down on his side, facing his laptop's screen. "Tell me," he breathes.

"Well, first, I'm going to kiss you," Blaine says. "And then I'm going to kiss you on your neck. Right under that scarf."

Kurt runs his fingers along his neck.

"And then I'm going to untie that scarf. Because I want to kiss what's under it." He watches as Kurt removes his scarf. "Yeah. Right there. Where your finger is."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "And I'm going to tell you that you are wearing far too many clothes," he replies. "I'm going to slide my fingers under the hem of that sweater, and I'm going to push it up." He laughs. "No. Slower than that. Slowly, so slowly, running my fingers up your belly and your chest, and then pulling it up over your head. And now... stop."

Blaine's face is peeking out, but his arms are still trapped in his sleeves.

"And I'm going to leave you like that, while I kiss down your sternum - no, you can't touch, your arms are stuck in your sleeves." He grins at Blaine's obvious frustration. "I'm going to kiss down to that spot below your belly button. And then I'm going to kiss my way back up to your collar bone."

Blaine growls at him and pulls his arms out of his sleeves. "And I'm going to free my arms so I can unbutton your shirt," Blaine says. "One button at a time. And I'm going to kiss everything that I can get my lips on. Like..." He licks his lips. "If you open your shirt just a little more - right, like that - I should be able to get to your nipple. And I'm going to lick it. And then bite it. Not too hard..." He shows his teeth. "Just a little nip."

Kurt tweaks his nipple in response.

"And then I'm going to keep going. To the next button. Right. And the next. And the last one." His pupils look dilated, though it's a little hard to tell with the resolution of the computer's camera. "And then I'm going to push your shirt aside. And I'm going to unbutton your pants."

Kurt starts to wriggle out of his jeans. His cock pushes his underwear up.

"Ok." Blaine says. "I was just going to have you open them, but that's fine. In fact, when I see that, I'm going to kiss it. And then I'm going to push your underwear down, too."

Kurt slides out of his pants and underwear and kicks them off the bed.

"I'm going to lick that vein - yeah, that one - and then I'm going to run my finger over the head." Blaine's voice is getting breathy, almost matching Kurt's. "And then I'm going to take the entire thing into my mouth."

"I'm going to stop you for a moment," Kurt replies, after slowly stroking himself. "Because you've still got too many clothes on. I'm going to get those pants and underwear off of you. And then I'm going to check whether you have any lube, because saliva and pre-cum are fine for some things..."

Blaine rolls to his side and comes back with a small tube.

"Perfect," Kurt says. "I'm going to slick that over your cock, and then I'm going to pull you beside me, face to face, until we fit right together." He watches as Blaine rubs the lube on himself.

"I'm going to put my hand around both of us," Blaine says. "Unless you want to do it."

"I'm just going to grab your ass and pull you against me," Kurt replies. "I like the feel of your cock against mine." He shifts so he can stroke himself while watching the screen.

Blaine's far enough from his camera that Kurt can see his hips writhe and his head sag backwards. Kurt watches and tries to time the movements of his own hands with Blaine's hips. It's not a perfect match, but it doesn't matter, because Kurt can already feel himself peaking as Blaine sobs his name.

When they're through, they both just lie beside their screens, watching each other.

Finally, Kurt's heart rate drops enough for him to realize how sticky he is. "I'm going to clean up," Kurt says. "Don't go."

"I won't," Blaine promises.

There's silence for a moment, while both of them wipe the semen from themselves. Kurt is still turned away when he hears Blaine's voice again.

"You know what I'm really looking forward to?" Blaine asks. "Besides actually touching you during sex, I mean."

Kurt puts the cloth aside and turns back to the screen. "What?"

"Coming home after a show and crawling into bed with you," Blaine says. "Lying beside you and telling you stories, and listening to you talk about the day at Vogue. Curling up beside you and smelling your hair and your face cream. Waking up and seeing you roll over and hide your face from the light."

"I do not hide my face in the mornings!" Kurt protests.

"And getting out of bed and making pancakes. And coming back in with a plate, and waving them in front of your face. And watching you wrinkle your nose, and open one eye, and groan about the insanity of early mornings, and finally stumble into the kitchen with your hair still a mess."

"You've been gone too long," Kurt says. "I don't do any of those things."

"I miss you," Blaine says.

Kurt smiles back at him. "I miss you, too. And I'm looking forward to spending our fifth anniversary together and reminding your treacherous memory that it _lies_."

Blaine laughs at him.

Or with him, because Kurt laughs back. "I love you," Kurt says. "But you probably need to shower before your call time. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Blaine replies. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Of course," Kurt says.

It takes several more moments before they finally hang up. But eventually, they do. Kurt closes his laptop with a sigh.

As he pulls on his pants, Kurt hears a squawking from the living room. He opens the door and looks at the bird. "Don't judge," he tells it. "I miss him. Ok?"

The bird tilts its head, but doesn't reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on Ch. 1: on Billie Holiday, Strange Fruit, and the War on a Drugs: https://www.npr.org/2019/08/20/752909807/strange-fruit


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's new cockatiel has issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Contact call is from "So What" (Miles Davis: https://youtu.be/zqNTltOGh5c)  
> Material Girl (Madonna: https://youtu.be/6p-lDYPR2P8)  
> My Favorite Things (John Coltrane: https://youtu.be/qWG2dsXV5HI)

Kurt startles awake, sitting up before he's even aware of the time. There was a noise. Maybe there's an intruder in the apartment. He grabs the nearest weapon, which turns out to be a lamp that needs to be unplugged first, then creeps stealthily towards the door.

He opens the door in one motion and leaps out. The room is dim, mostly because the shades are pulled and Kurt hasn't flicked on the light. He holds still, letting his eyes adjust, and listens.

There it is again. A high-pitched whistle, musical enough that it sounds slightly familiar. He stops and listens. There haven't been any rumors of a whistling home invader, but it's not like Kurt spends his time obsessing about crime. He raises the lamp and waits.

Again. Definitely in his apartment. A perfect descending whole step, high enough that he isn't sure he could hit the notes. He looks around for the source of the sound.

And then he sees the cage.

Of course.

Kurt has a bird now. And birds sing. Or whistle, in this case.

He finds the switch and turns on the light. The bird's mohawk rises and curls over its head, then straightens as the bird steps back.

Kurt lets out the breath that he was holding. "You scared me," he says. "I hope you aren't going to wake me up like that every morning."

The bird moves to the other side of the cage and watches Kurt suspiciously.

"You're probably worried about the lamp," Kurt continues. "Sorry. I'll put it away."

He goes back into his room, puts the lamp back onto its spot beside the bed, and grabs his slippers, clean underwear, and bathrobe. If he's awake, he might as well go through his morning routine.

On his way to the bathroom, he stops at the cage. The bird is still cowering on its perch. The cantaloupe sits in the bird's dish, untouched. "Not a fan of melons?" Kurt asks. "Or do you have issues with orange foods? I mean, you're right, it's just different enough from your cheeks that it clashes." He looks for the bag of seed. "Here, I'll give you some of this instead."

The bird tilts its head.

"I'm going to take a shower and do my skin care now," Kurt tells the bird as he puts the newly filled food dish into the cage. "It will take a while, so go ahead and eat without me." He turns and heads for the bathroom.

*

Bird seed was probably the wrong choice of food if Kurt wanted to tell whether the bird was eating or not. There are all those little coverings, husks or whatever they're called, and they look like uneaten seeds if you don't look closely. Kurt remembers an embarrassing moment of panic from his first day caring for the canary at Dalton, before Blaine talked him down and explained about birds and seeds.

So Kurt checks the food dish after his shower. It doesn't look like the bird ate anything, but it's hard to tell. He has to open the cage again to poke his finger in the food, and the bird shrinks into the corner, mohawk straight up, until he withdraws. There isn't any sign of seed husks, but what does Kurt know? Again. New pet owner.

He looks at the bird and sighs. "I'm going to make some brunch," he tells it. "I've got spinach and feta and eggs." He frowns. "Or maybe you don't want to know about eating eggs. Sorry. Didn't mean to be insensitive." Wow. Was he going to have to become a vegan? Good thing he learned a lot of recipes during his years living with Rachel.

The bird watches him, head cocked.

Kurt looks back at it. "I mean, I'll get you some spinach before I start." He goes into the kitchen.

He hasn't even finished washing the spinach when the bird starts squawking. It takes another few moments to shake off the water, select a few small leaves, and hurry back into the living room. The bird watches him as he opens the cage door and props the spinach on one of the perches. A bird would rather eat something that looks like it's on a tree. Right? Kurt eyes his creation and wonders if it is plant-like enough.

And then, while Kurt's hand is paused beside the spinach leaf, the bird hisses at him. Hisses!

Kurt pulls his hand out of the cage. "Ok. Fine," he says. "Be that way. I'll eat in the kitchen, if that's how you feel." He grabs his phone, then picks up his laptop and carries it with him. It's too early to call anyone - Blaine sleeps late after performances, and Mercedes is on the west coast, and it's even too early to talk to his dad. But he can skim through social media while he eats, at least. Maybe catching up with the online world will help him ignore the fact that he has somehow adopted a bird with a pissy attitude.

*

Coffee and a spinach-feta omelet do a lot for Kurt's mood, enough to allow him to settle down for his weekly attempt at writing. One hour. That's the amount of time that he always gives himself with no other distractions. No e-mails. No texting - not even with Blaine. No glances at social media, not for gossip about friends, not for news about the latest high-profile celebrity train wreck. Just writing. Sometimes he outlines a scene. Sometimes he writes dialogue. Sometimes he works on lyrics. Sometimes he edits his previous work. But what's important is that he does it, good or bad, every week. It's about the consistency. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Last week, he forced himself out of his writer's block by swearing that he would not read anything he wrote until his next session. No fretting about finding the perfect word. No spellcheck. No looking for misplaced commas or dangling modifiers or dialogue that couldn't possibly make sense for a particular character.

But that was last week. This week... this week he's going to edit it. Or at least read it, and see how it feels. He turns off his phone, opens his laptop, and starts to read.

And his improved mood does a U-turn. In heavy traffic. And then completely breaks down, gears grinding, steam pouring out of the radiator, every possible metaphor for a complete wreck that he can think of. The scene makes no sense. The characters' motivations are all wrong, the action is stalled, the dialogue is stilted.

And Kurt has only been reading for ten minutes. He fixes a comma, sighs, and goes back to the previous scene to try to figure out where everything fell apart.

When the hour is over, he stands up, rolls his shoulders, and turns his phone back on. It's still too early to call Blaine, but that's ok. He knows where to get help for his mood.

His dad answers on the first ring, and things are immediately better. They trade news - Washington is as frustrating as ever, but things are going smoothly at the garage, even when Burt isn't there. They move on to talking about the latest happenings at Vogue when the bird whistles. It's that descending whole tone again.

"What's that?" Kurt's dad has some kind of magical hearing. Seriously. Kurt swears that Burt can tell if Kurt has had an argument with Blaine, just by the background noise in the apartment.

And Kurt knows better than to say anything but the truth. "It's a bird," he says. "A cockatiel."

"Huh," Burt replies. "When did you decide to get a pet?" It's a reasonable question; normally, Kurt would spend weeks thinking about something like that, asking his dad's opinion about every option.

"Yesterday morning," Kurt says. "When Santana showed up with it."

"Hmph." His dad doesn't say anything else, which tells Kurt that more explanation is necessary.

"It belonged to the drummer for her band," Kurt explains.

"What, they going away or something?" his dad asks. "Playing shows out of town? You're pet-sitting now?"

"They're not on tour, no," Kurt replies. "The drummer just needed someone else to take it."

"Uh-huh." Burt is silent for a moment. "You didn't ask why?"

And this is the reason Kurt asks his dad's advice before making big life decisions. Because Burt asks these kinds of questions. "I didn't have much of a chance," Kurt explains. "I woke up, and Santana was there with a bird cage." He shrugs, though his dad can't see. "It's hard to say no to Santana."

"Especially if you haven't had coffee yet," Burt concedes. "I get it. But don't let those girls take advantage of you."

"I know how to say _no_ , Dad," Kurt insists.

"Uh-huh." Burt doesn't sound convinced, but he also doesn't point out that Kurt has just contradicted himself. "You talk to the guy who had the bird before you? Find out if the bird's sick? Or got, I don't know, personal problems?"

"Like the depressed hamster from second grade?" Kurt asks.

"Exactly," his dad says. "We spent all of spring break trying to figure out why it wasn't eating. You were convinced that hamster hated you."

"And then we brought it back to school and it was fine," Kurt finishes. "Don't worry, Dad. I found out what cockatiels eat, and I've got cantaloupe and spinach and seeds and a water dish."

"I still think you should talk to the old owner," Burt says. "Find out its quirks. Make things easier on both of you." He stops for a moment. "You told Blaine about the bird?"

"Not yet," Kurt says. "I'm going to surprise him when he gets back. It will be our anniversary, you know."

"I remember." Burt's voice sounds like he's smiling. "But this is the kinda thing you need to talk about when you're married."

"I know," Kurt reassures him. "But Blaine loves birds. And cockatiels sing, Dad. I think I know my husband well enough to surprise him with this."

Burt makes a skeptical noise, but doesn't argue.

When Kurt ends the call, he hears the bird again. That descending whole tone. He walks to the kitchen door and pokes his head into the living room.

The bird's mohawk twitches as it stares at him. And then it squawks.

*

Kurt goes out for a walk to pick up the Sunday paper, then heads for the park. It's almost 11 am, which means that it's time for the weekly 'communication practice' phone call with Blaine. They don't have the best track record in their relationship, dealing with either distance or communication, and they're determined that this time, it's going to be different. They found this exercise online, and it seems both non-threatening and good to practice. They'll take turns, each talking for three minutes while the other one listens. When they're done, the other one will repeat back what he heard. Then they switch roles. It was hard at first; they've developed a habit of interrupting each other - finishing each other's sentences, making cutting remarks (Kurt), trying to find a solution to every problem, even before it's completely expressed (Blaine). Plus after they'd been apart for a week, they slipped into innuendo, and the listening sessions devolved into phone sex.

So now they do their Skype sex on Saturdays, and practice listening on Sundays. The rest of the week, they can flirt or vent or just share news. But the weekends are for keeping the relationship healthy.

Kurt settles onto a park bench, pulls out his phone, and waits until exactly 11 am to put the call through.

"Hey," Blaine answers. "How are you doing?"

"All right," Kurt says. "How are you?"

"Fine," Blaine replies. "No big news." He pauses for a second. They always do this: start by making sure that there aren't any emergencies that need to be dealt with. As Kurt had pointed out when they began the experiment, they shouldn't do listening exercises if the apartment is burning down or flooding or something. "It's your turn to start."

Kurt looks around the park. "It's quiet this morning," he starts. "A little chilly, but not too bad. There are a couple people going for a run. Total fashion disasters. I can't even put it into words." He stops for a moment. "The sparrows are watching me, but I didn't get a scone this morning, so they're just going to have to be disappointed." Normally, he would describe all of the birds, but if he starts, he might tell Blaine about the cockatiel. And he really wants to see the look on Blaine's face when he gets home and sees the bird.

So Kurt focuses on the leaves on the trees, and the people walking by, and the antics of a pair of squirrels. When he's done, Blaine repeats the description back to him. He gets the details of the birds perfectly, and he critiques the fashion using Kurt's exact words. He forgets some of the squirrel antics, and doesn't remember the exact description of the tree. But it's pretty good.

And then it's Blaine's turn.

"I'm in the coffee shop again," he starts. "You know, the one that I was in last week."

Kurt doesn't say anything. It's hard; Blaine sounds like he wants affirmation, and Kurt has gotten into the habit of making little noises in response, whether he's listening or not.

Blaine takes a breath. "There's a couple, a few tables down. They're doing a crossword together. I don't know if they're together or if they're friends, but one of them keeps blurting out the answer before the other one finishes reading the clue. The one who is reading looks like she's going to snap at any minute, but she hasn't. At least, not yet." He pauses. "The barista is singing along with the music. She's just flat enough that she would drive you crazy, but she looks really happy. She's doing this little dance when she thinks nobody is looking. I don't want to disturb her, so I'm going to stare at the menu instead." He goes on to describe the lettering for each one of the coffee drinks, and the types of muffins in the case, and the new art that's been hung on the walls in the past week.

Blaine's timer beeps. "Three minutes," he says.

"Ok," Kurt starts. "There was the... the couple. With the crossword. And, umm, you expected drama but there wasn't any. And the dancing barista. With the bad singing. And color-coded lettering for the drinks, but it was different from last week. Why do people do that? It's confusing. Plus the color choices are usually horrible." He's getting off track. "Umm. You liked some of the art. There was one with... an empty chair? And another with clouds and interesting lighting." He stops. "I missed something."

"The muffins," Blaine says. "I'm surprised. I was kind of drooling over them. The raspberry-chocolate-chip one looks really good."

"I was trying to avoid encouraging you," Kurt replies, a bit more drily than he intends.

"I'm behaving myself," Blaine insists. He waits for a beat, then switches topics. "We did pretty well, I think."

"We're getting better," Kurt agrees.

"So now that we're warmed up... what else is going on?" Blaine asks. It's the next step in their communication practice: time for venting, knowing that the other one will just listen, not interrupt or get defensive or try to fix things.

"I'm feeling stuck in my writing," Kurt admits. And then he lays out the problem: the scene that won't work, the ways the voices are just plain wrong.

Blaine doesn't say anything until Kurt pauses. "Is there anything you want me to do?"

Kurt sighs. "Maybe I'll ask you to read it sometime. But not now. I'll let it sit, and see if I have better ideas next week." He moves his phone to his other hand. "What about you? What else is going on there?"

And then it's Blaine's turn. He talks about how he doesn't think he's selling a particular scene very well, and how it feels like he needs to get it down soon if the show is going to have any chance to make it to Broadway. Kurt listens, and offers to help, even though he knows that Blaine just needs to think it through with him.

And then it's time for both of them to go.

"Only two more weeks," Blaine says.

"Two more weeks," Kurt agrees.

"I love you." They say it at the same time, and then laugh.

"Talk to you tomorrow," Blaine says.

"Tomorrow," Kurt agrees, and taps the screen.

*

Kurt takes a long walk back to the apartment. He's been wanting to try to cook something with phyllo dough, and Sundays are good for that kind of experimentation. There's a bad sanitized version of _Material Girl_ playing at the shop where he picks up some goat cheese, plus more butter and dough, and he is still humming to himself when he opens the apartment door.

He is greeted by the strangest high-pitched sound he has ever heard. It's like a scream. But it's also kind of a whistle? He doesn't think too much about it, because he's dropping his bag and shrieking back in response.

The bird stops, tilts its head, and looks him over.

"You scared me!" Kurt's voice is still higher than normal, and he breathes a few times to get it back under control. "Trust me, you don't want to do that every time someone comes through this door. I have loud friends."

The bird's mohawk rises, then relaxes.

"I'm just going to put these things away," Kurt tells it. "And then I'm going to cook. How's your food doing?" He looks into the cage. It doesn't look like anything has been eaten. He shrugs and heads into the kitchen.

He's in the middle of layering the phyllo dough into a cast iron pan when the bird starts whistling. It's that descending whole step again, annoyingly familiar, though it's not like descending whole steps are that unusual. He puts the last layer into the pan, fills it with the sautéed vegetables and goat cheese, sets the timer, and puts the whole little pie into the oven. He's ready to put the hot pads back in their drawer when he hears another whistle. And Kurt may not speak bird, but it sounds like some kind of summons. So he picks up the newspaper and his laptop and heads into the living room.

The bird tilts its head and looks at him. Kurt tilts his head back. They just watch each other until finally the bird scoots away and squawks at him.

"Fine," Kurt says. "I won't look at you. But you don't seem to like it when I'm in the kitchen, either." He peeks at the bird out of the corner of his eye. "I'm just going to sit here. I've got an idea about what was wrong with that scene in my play, and I don't want to lose it." He opens his laptop, turns it on, and starts typing.

The bird squawks in surprise when the oven's timer goes off, twenty-five minutes later. Kurt jumps, as well - he was getting into a groove, and lost track of time. He saves the file, closes his laptop, and gets the pan out of the oven. It looks good, though the taste will be the test. It was easier than he expected, too, so maybe it will go into the rotation once Blaine gets back.

*

The rest of the evening is uneventful. The bird does that whole-step whistle a few more times while Kurt is washing the dishes, so Kurt starts singing every song he can think of with that motif, trying to figure out why it sounds familiar. But nothing seems quite right. The bird has been quiet for a while when Kurt finally finishes drying everything and comes back into the living room. And when he sees it, Kurt realizes why: its head is tucked back against its wing, and its eyes are closed. The bird is asleep.

Kurt sneaks into his bedroom and shuts the door.

*

The bird is still asleep when Kurt wakes up and peeks into the living room. It's probably exhausted, Kurt thinks as he slips into the bathroom for his morning routine.

He's out of the shower and moisturizing his face when he hears the whistle again. If he had perfect pitch, like Rachel, he would know the exact notes. But he doesn't, so he just waves.

"Good morning!" It's the closest Kurt ever comes to chirping. He hopes it will be enough.

The bird tilts its head and looks at him.

"I should give you some water before I leave," Kurt says.

The bird backs away, mohawk rigid.

"Fine," Kurt says. "I'll get dressed and make some coffee. But I've got to stick my hand in there to change your water."

The bird's mohawk relaxes a bit, but the bird doesn't come any closer.

Kurt sighs. "Be that way," he says, and goes into his bedroom.

*

Changing the bird's water isn't entirely without drama. But at least the bird doesn't hiss. Kurt figures he needs to take wins where he can find them, and heads to the Vogue office for work.

It's a typical day. Meetings to brainstorm the latest project. Discussions about how to divide up writing assignments. A little gossip, plus an extended story from Isabelle, peppered with references to famous people she knows. Over the years, Kurt has learned to read between the lines; there's an insecurity underneath her storytelling, and he knows when to needle her and when to be supportive. The job has become comfortable and familiar, even if it isn't what he dreamed of.

He doesn't talk to his Vogue co-workers about writing plays. They wouldn't understand why he is driven to do something that frustrates him so much, why it isn't quite enough to just watch his totally hot husband perform on stage.

The play is on Kurt's mind as he heads home at the end of the day. He sketches out a missing scene in his head while he slides into a seat on the subway. He imagines the cadence of his characters' speech while he's walking back to the apartment. He pictures the action as he opens the...

_Squawk._

With one sound, the bird erases all of the mental planning that Kurt was working on during his commute. He glares at it, and it retreats to the other side of the cage. He watches it for a moment, and then sighs.

"It's not your fault," he tells it. "Sometimes my ideas get stuck, and I blame everyone around me. You should ask Blaine. He knows."

Kurt looks at the cage more carefully. The spinach has wilted. It's hard to tell, but it looks as though the bird hasn't touched it. The seed looks uneaten, as well. Kurt opens the door, trying to ignore the way that the bird shrinks away from him, and stirs the seed with his finger. He was right - it's all seeds, no husks. He frowns, then picks up his phone, hearing his father's advice. _You talk to the guy who had the bird before you?_ No. He hasn't. He doesn't even have his number. But Santana does. He scrolls through his contacts and calls her.

The phone is answered on the first ring. "If only we could solve 25-dimensional physics problems, we could build a time machine."

"Hi, Britt," Kurt replies. "Are you back from your conference, or did you take Santana's phone with you?" He has never figured out a good way to respond to Brittany. She makes no more sense now, as a world-famous math genius, than she did in high school.

"Santana's in the shower," Britt says. "She doesn't think it's a good idea to hold our wedding anniversary party in 1918. What do you think?"

"Let's just celebrate it in two weeks, like we planned." It takes effort, but Kurt manages not to get distracted. "Could you ask Santana to call me when she gets out of the shower? Tell her I've got questions about the bird." He could ask Brittany to find the drummer's number on Santana's phone, but he has no idea what Brittany will actually give him. It's safer to wait and talk to Santana.

"Be nice to Charlie," Brittany says. "He was in love with Anna, but she went to LA. Three-ways don't work when two people are fighting over the third one, you know. You need triangles, not V's. Though sometimes it just takes more dimensions to make it work."

"Okaaaay." Kurt isn't sure whether Brittany is talking about pets or math or sex or everything at once.

"I wanted to bring Charlie home with me, but Santana reminded me about how Lord Tubbington got caught up in phishing schemes to steal bitcoin. She said it wouldn't be a safe emotional environment for a bird. He's better off with you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Kurt says, trying to figure out how to end the call.

"Birds like your voice, you know," Brittany continues. "That's how you caught your Warbler."

And Kurt needs to end the call now, before Brittany starts giving relationship advice. "I need to go," he says. "It's good to talk to you. Please tell Santana that I called." He taps his phone before Brittany can say anything else.

His phone buzzes. It says the call is from Santana. He answers, wondering if she's out of the shower already.

"Charlie likes jazz," Brittany tells him. "Remember to play jazz for him."

"Thanks," Kurt replies. "Bye." He hangs up again, shaking his head.

The bird - Charlie, he's got a name, Brittany reminded him of it - is watching Kurt, head tilted, looking curious. Kurt looks back at it - at him - then goes to get his laptop.

 _Cockatiel not eating_ , he types, and then starts clicking links. Wrong type of food - no, it can't be that, he started with the same food that Santana left with him. Illness? He hopes not. Stressed and out of its comfort zone? Hmmm.

Kurt looks at the bird. At _Charlie_. Right. That could be it. He reads a few more links. Bird people really like to give each other advice. And a lot of them disagree with one another, but that's just everything on the internet. But it sounds like he needs to make his apartment feel more familiar.

Jazz. Brittany said to play jazz for Charlie.

Kurt shrugs, opens Spotify, and searches for random jazz playlists. "Ok, Charlie," he says. "My friend Brittany - who doesn't make sense most of the time, I know - she said I should play jazz for you. And I need to go make dinner. So... maybe you'll like this." He tilts his head at the bird, then starts the music. "Let me know."

 _Let me know?_ Kurt thinks as he heads into the kitchen. Sure. And maybe he just needs to learn to translate 'bird' into English. He can deal with French, after all...

He rolls his eyes at himself and starts to make dinner.

The bird doesn't squawk or whistle or anything. Not during the sautéing, not when Kurt adds the cooking wine, not when the pasta water boils. In fact, it's so quiet that Kurt heads back into the living room to eat.

The bird is just sitting on its perch, bobbing its head. So. Jazz. Ok. Kurt can deal with it. His tastes run more towards vocalists, but instrumental jazz is fine. And plenty of jazz standards started as show tunes. He finishes his dinner, washes the dishes, and puts everything away. A new track, this one in waltz time, starts as he steps out of the kitchen, and he automatically dances in a circle, wishing that Blaine were there to spin around with him. And then he recognizes the melody and starts to sing along.

_Raindrops on roses_  
_and whiskers on kittens..._

Charlie bobs his head at Kurt and whistles back at him.

_These are a few of my favorite things..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cockatiel notes:
> 
> Not eating  
> https://www.acstiels.com/help-my-new-pet-cockatiel-wont-eat
> 
> Sound when scared:  
> https://petcentral.chewy.com/5-cockatiel-sounds-and-vocalizations-explained/#:~:text=The%20Cockatiel%20%E2%80%9CScristle%E2%80%9D&text=Cockatiels%20will%20utter%20this%20attention,more%20like%20train%20on%20helium.
> 
> Contact call advice: http://www.tailfeathersnetwork.com/community/showthread.php/71809-Cockatiel-contact-call


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Summertime (Charlie Parker: https://youtu.be/k7CHDscLREk)  
> Someday My Prince Will Come (Miles Davis & John Coltrane: https://youtu.be/hmsNIAKp2oU)  
> So What (Miles Davis: https://youtu.be/zqNTltOGh5c)

Charlie likes music.

Ok. So that shouldn't be a surprise; Kurt knows that Charlie's owner ( _...former owner..._ ) is a musician. Or musicians? Kurt hadn't paid much attention to the talk about the drummer's girlfriend-who-had gone-to-LA. But maybe he should have, because Brittany's out-of-nowhere comments about the bird being in love with the drummer's girlfriend might have been based on some version of reality. At the very least, Brittany was right about Charlie's musical taste.

Kurt scrolls through the playlist of jazz classics, looking for songs he knows. He ends up singing _Summertime_ \- though he wishes Santana were here; her voice suits the song better - and then _Someday My Prince Will Come_ , which is a better fit for him. Charlie wags his tail and bobs his head, then starts whistling as soon as the song ends. Kurt re-starts it, and Charlie chimes in with whistles. The bird is in tune. Well. Most of the time.

After the second time through, Kurt lets the playlist move onto the next song. "Sorry," he tells Charlie. "I'll be back. Promise. But it's Monday. Blaine doesn't have a show tonight." He goes into the bedroom and closes the door.

They have a routine for Saturdays and Sundays, but Monday evenings are for whatever they want. Kurt's home from work. Blaine's free all night. Sometimes they vent, sometimes they gossip, sometimes they have phone sex.

Tonight starts with stories - Kurt talking about the latest adventures at Vogue, Blaine sharing the rumors that there's some interest in opening his show on Broadway.

"It might be nothing," Blaine says. "Just gossip from other people in the cast. We haven't heard anything official."

"I hope the rumors are true," Kurt replies.

"Me, too." There's a smile in Blaine's voice. "I just love being on stage. You know? The lights. The applause. Just... having an audience."

"The laughs," Kurt agrees. "Or - even better - when they gasp." He wants to write something that elicits those reactions.

"Exactly," Blaine says. "But I also want to come home after the curtain call and snuggle up with you."

"Aren't you usually too wired to cuddle?" Kurt is only sort of teasing. When Blaine was auditioning, he would come home still singing and dancing, until Kurt joined in and it turned into mutual seduction.

"I cuddle afterwards," Blaine insists. And it's true. Blaine is quite the post-coital snuggler.

Kurt laughs, warm inside. He knows what's about to happen.

"Are your pants still on?" Blaine's voice is lower than normal, both in register and in volume.

"They won't be for long," Kurt replies. "Want to switch to Skype?"

"No." That's definitely Blaine's turned-on voice. "I want to hear your descriptions."

They've been doing this for a while, so Kurt knows that Blaine isn't talking about descriptions of his... ummm... equipment. He wants to hear the action. And more... he wants to hear what Kurt feels.

"Your lips are a little bit dry when you kiss my cheek," Kurt begins. It's the little details that make a description vivid. Plus Kurt knows how Blaine can neglect his skin care if he's busy and Kurt isn't around.

"Your cheek?" Blaine teases. It's been a long time since Kurt was shy about sex, and they both know it.

"My cheek," Kurt confirms. "The one on my face. Pervert."

"That's what I assumed." Blaine's defense would be more believable if he weren't laughing.

"Right," Kurt says after Blaine's laughter subsides. "Your chin is scratchy against my thigh."

"Your thigh?" Blaine isn't laughing now, though it sounds like he could start again at any moment. "I thought I was kissing your face."

"My thigh," Kurt continues.

"Wait, what about your clothes?" Blaine asks.

"I'm already naked," Kurt whispers. It isn't true. Yet. But it's all about the story right now.

"Oh." Blaine's voice goes from amused to choked in one syllable. "I've got some catching up to do, then." There's a rustle and the sound of a zipper opening.

Kurt takes advantage of the pause to wriggle out of his jeans. "Where were we?"

"Your thigh," Blaine says helpfully.

"Right." Kurt runs his hand along his thigh. "Your face feels rough," he says.

"I shaved today. And I didn't wake up until late." Blaine says. He's only a little defensive. "I always shave unless I'm auditioning for a scruffy role. You know that."

"I know." Kurt keeps his laugh inside. "But by evening... well. Your facial hair grows awfully fast." He's surprised that Blaine hasn't given this much thought. Kurt has been acutely aware of Blaine's stubble since they were teenagers.

"Wait, is this a kink that I didn't know about?" Blaine sounds interested. "I didn't think you were into beards."

"I'm not," Kurt says. "But I'm into you."

The sappiness - not as out-of-character as it once was, but still odd coming from Kurt rather than Blaine - just hangs in the silence for a moment, and then Kurt hears another rustle. Without a camera, Kurt can't tell how much of Blaine is still clothed.

But Kurt doesn't ask, and Blaine doesn't tell. "As much as I love the sentiment..." Blaine's warm tone might be arousal, or it might be amusement. "...I'm still curious. Are you trying to tell me that you bought _sandpaper_ as a sex toy?"

"Sandpaper as a _sex toy_??" Kurt is a bit too shocked to say anything else.

"I'm just trying to picture what you're doing." There's a bit of wheedling behind Blaine's teasing now.

"Blaine. I've got lube. I've got an imagination. I don't need sex toys." Kurt stops for a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to switch to Skype?"

"No..." But there's a bit of a whine in Blaine's voice. Ok. So arousal. Or annoyance? That would be bad.

"Blaine?" Kurt knows he's prodding Blaine, and it could go well, or it could go badly. But Kurt can't SEE him, can't take Blaine's hand and stroke it, can't soften what he says with a shrug or a smile.

Blaine sighs. "No. Your imagination is one of the hottest things about you. You know that. Don't you?" He pauses for a second. "Kurt?"

"No," Kurt says. "I didn't know that." He grimaces, though he knows Blaine can't see him. "I thought my writing was mostly a way to compensate for not being the _type_ that directors had in mind for any interesting parts."

"I said your imagination. Not your writing," Blaine corrects him. "Though the writing is obviously part of it. But there's also your fashion sense, your song choices, that amazingly extravagant casket you once made for a _bird_..."

Through the closed door, Kurt hears Charlie whistle, and worries that his surprise has been ruined already.

But Blaine continues as if there hadn't been an interruption. "...Your ability to imagine another way whenever the normal doors seem to be closed." And then Blaine does stop. But just for a moment. "I thought, if I just listen to your words... maybe _I_ can imagine like that, too."

Kurt waits for a moment, thinking. Imagining. He gives his cock a slow stroke to get back into the mood.

"Kurt." Blaine says. "Are you masturbating?"

Kurt laughs. "You have excellent hearing."

"Tell me," Blaine begs. "Tell me what you think about."

"I think about a lot of things," Kurt says. "Sometimes, I think about your mouth. And the way it feels on my skin. And _around_ my... skin."

It's hard to tell through the phone, but it sounds like Blaine licks his lips. And with that sound, Kurt is fully hard again. He sighs and lets his mind go.

"Sometimes, I imagine pressing myself against your ass," Kurt murmurs. "Or into it. And the way you moan. And wriggle back against me."

The sound from the phone is definitely one of those moans.

Kurt moves his hand more quickly. "And then..." He tries for a sexy whisper, but he always loses control of his voice when they get to this point. "And then sometimes I think about watching the faces that you make when you come. You scrunch up your face - like you do when you're singing, sometimes - and then your mouth opens."

"Fuck," Blaine moans.

"And I listen to you swear." Kurt's laugh is a bit breathless. He's close, too. "And then I watch as your face just goes slack."

Blaine moans again, and Kurt strokes harder. Blaine lets out a string of curses, and Kurt gives up and lets himself laugh as he comes.

"Like that," Kurt says. When he's got a bit more oxygen in his lungs. Which isn't for a minute or two. He gathers his breath to apologize for his inability to manage a really vivid pornographic description while he's getting off.

But before he can say anything, there's a whistle, loud and clear this time. Charlie's descending whole tone.

"What's that?" Blaine asks.

"What's what?" Kurt fumbles for a better response, but his brain is still sluggish from his orgasm.

"I thought I heard something whistling." Blaine sings the notes back to Kurt.

"Oh," Kurt says. "Just listening to a new playlist." He scrambles out of bed and opens the door so the music sounds louder.

Blaine hums along for a moment. "Jazz," he says. "Not your usual."

"Yeah, I went to see Santana's band on Friday, and got some new music stuck in my head."

"I know this one," Blaine says. "Wait. It's one of the songs that I had to remember for my History of Jazz listening test a couple years ago." He sings along for another bar or two. "Not big band. Not be-bop." He listens a bit more. "Miles Davis," he says. " _So What_. We had a whole lecture on this album."

Now Kurt remembers. There were a few years after he had graduated, while Blaine was still in college. Blaine would study by curling up on the couch with him and reading, or bouncing around their apartment and making up songs to help him remember everything for his tests.

"The seminal _Kind of Blue_ album," Blaine continues in a fake-lecture voice. Charlie whistles again, and Blaine stops. "Kurt... did you find a cover with _whistling_?" He laughs. "I love it."

Kurt scrambles for something, anything, to distract Blaine. "Did you know that _seminal_ comes from the same root as _semen_?"

Blaine stops. "I can't believe I never realized that," he says. "Wow. I wrote some really dirty papers in college, huh."

"I've been spending some quality time with online dictionaries." It's true. Sometimes they help Kurt find words. "If our phone dates get boring, I'll read them to you."

Blaine laughs. "You know you've never been bor..." He's cut off by another whistle.

Kurt panics. "Oh, look, it's Brittany," he lies. "She's probably calling with ideas for the anniversary party again."

"You'd better take that," Blaine says. "I'm scared of what Brittany will plan if she doesn't have supervision." He doesn't say that they are done, even though they've both come.

"I love you," Kurt says.

"I'll call tomorrow before the show," Blaine replies. "And I'll be home soon."

"Two weeks from last night," Kurt agrees. "Not that I'm counting."

"We're BOTH counting," Blaine corrects him. "I love you, too."

Kurt ends the call before the bird can interrupt again.

*

It takes about one minute, maybe less, before he hears another whistle.

Kurt sings the descending notes back while he pulls on his pants. He's rewarded with a chirp from Charlie and the notes, again. Kurt repeats the motif, then looks into the living room.

Charlie is in the cage, watching him, bobbing his head. Kurt's computer has moved on to a different track, but Charlie keeps whistling _So What_.

"Aww," Kurt says, walking over to his computer and stopping the music. "You just wanted a duet partner." He sings the notes again.

Charlie leans his head forward, like he's curious, and shakes his tail. Kurt looks at his computer screen and scrolls until he finds _So What_ , then clicks play. Charlie tilts his head, then starts dancing along his perch to the opening bass riff.

Kurt laughs. "Oh, you're a performer, are you?" He takes a couple steps to his left. Charlie bobs his head and whistles in time with the horns. Kurt grins at him and sings back.

By the end of the tune, Kurt is shimmying across the living room, singing to the bird. Charlie is practically bouncing, lifting his little bird-shoulders and ducking his head. Finally, Kurt stops the music and collapses on the couch facing the cage. Charlie tilts his head and waits for something.

"Are you hungry?" Kurt asks. "You haven't eaten anything in two days. And singing and dancing is hard work." He opens up his browser. The information about cockatiel food is has got to be in his history somewhere...

There. One of the bird advice forums suggested feeding a new bird some millet, as a treat, to start. Kurt does an image search for a photo of millet, then digs through his bag of bird food until he finds something that matches. He pulls it out and shows it to Charlie.

"I'm going to open your cage now," Kurt warns him. "Please don't bite me." Sure, they had been singing and dancing together, but Kurt knows from long experience that it doesn't mean they are necessarily _friends_.

Charlie watches cautiously as Kurt tucks the millet spray onto a clip near the top of the cage.

"There you go," Kurt says as he withdraws his hand. "Food."

Charlie side-steps slowly along his perch, then leans forward and plucks out a seed.

Kurt smiles at him. "There. Better. Right?"

Charlie tilts his head at Kurt and chirps. It sounds like agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn Leaves (Miles Davis and Cannonball Adderly: https://youtu.be/tguu4m38U78)
> 
> Popular (Kristen Chenowith: https://youtu.be/R4rpG-dipYA)
> 
> You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To (Ella Fitzgerald: https://youtu.be/_YiKGu5Pwxo)
> 
> "Kurt just wants to move to Australia" is a reference to the children's book "Alexander and the Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day". (I have loved this book for a very, very long time. I don't know if many kids read it now, though.)

The millet spray looks like it's been picked over when Kurt examines it the next morning. He takes that as a good sign, and decides to cut open another melon for breakfast, putting a few pieces in one of the empty food dishes, up high, like the millet was. Maybe birds don't like to be on the ground.

"If I could fly, I would never stand on the ground, either," Kurt admits as he withdraws his hand.

Charlie watches him from the other side of the cage, eyes bright and mohawk sticking straight up in two rows. It's more like a pair of surprised eyebrows than a mohawk, Kurt thinks. It's cute. But then, Kurt has a bit of a thing for expressive eyebrows.

*

There's less melon in the dish when Kurt gets home from work, and the remaining pieces all look pecked-at. Plus the paper at the bottom of the cage is wet, and covered with bits of seed, and...

Oh. Yeah. The droppings. In the years since Kurt took care of the Dalton canary, he has forgotten about those. Which is ridiculous, really, because he knows the horror of pigeon droppings on a hat. Kurt frowns at the bottom of the cage, then goes through the bag of bird supplies in search of a fresh cage liner. (Yes. He knows that he could use a black-and-white page from the Times. His dad once tried to get him to take week-old papers back to Dalton for Pavarotti's cage. Kurt, of course, had been horrified by the suggestion.)

Fortunately, there are several sheets of paper in the bag that Santana left for him. It looks he'll need more soon, though, before the end of the week at the latest. Which will mean a trip to a pet store. But not tonight, which is good, because he's just getting an idea of what Charlie likes, and it will be a much more interesting shopping trip in a few days.

Kurt examines the bottom of the cage. "I hope this has one of those trays that slide out," he tells Charlie. "Nothing like having a giant hand reach into your home and pull the rug out from under you." He had made the exact same joke the first time he cleaned Pavarotti's cage. Pavarotti had not been impressed by it, but Charlie tilts his head and whistles in response. Kurt grins and prepares the paper for changing.

First: bring the garbage can to the cage, so he can dispose of the liner quickly and neatly.

Second: get the new liner ready.

Third...

"Don't worry," he tells Charlie. "This will only take a moment."

He pulls out the tray, folds the old liner around the feces and seed husks, and drops it into the trash. Then, as quickly and neatly as possible, he tucks the new liner onto the tray and slides the tray back into place.

"There," he says. "Easier than vacuuming, right?"

Charlie wiggles his tail and chirps.

"Exactly," Kurt says. "Now I'll give you some more food and water. How about some spinach tonight?"

Charlie whistles back at him.

"It's good for you," Kurt scolds. "You need to eat your vegetables. No excuses." He goes into the kitchen to wash off some spinach and grab a measuring cup of fresh water. Maybe if he only opens the cage once, Charlie won't be so disturbed.

As soon as he disappears, Charlie starts whistling the horn part to _So What_.

Kurt sings it back to him.

Charlie chirps, then sings the notes again.

"I'll be out in a minute," Kurt calls. "I'll have food and water. And music. All the things a bird needs in life. Right?"

Charlie chirps and whistles. Excited? Or impatient? Or both? Kurt can't tell.

This time when Kurt opens the cage, Charlie just sits on his perch, head tilted, and watches. "There," Kurt says, pulling out the millet and replacing it with spinach. "No complaining about having vegetables before dessert. You can't survive on comfort food forever." He can hear his dad and Blaine teaming up against him in his head. Hopefully Charlie won't start chiming in with them. It's hard enough to keep his two favorite men in line sometimes.

Speaking of which...

"I need to call Blaine," he tells Charlie. "Otherwise I'll miss my chance before he has to get ready for tonight's show. Eat your spinach, or drink some water. I'll be back soon."

Cbarlie looks at him and chirps.

"Ok. Fine. I'll put some music on, too. But you need to be quiet while I'm on the phone, ok? I know you haven't met Blaine yet, but trust me, you're going to love the face he makes when he's surprised." Kurt opens his laptop and starts the jazz playlist. "You can dance to this. Right?" Kurt wiggles his shoulders at Charlie.

Charlie shakes his tail back at Kurt.

"That's right," Kurt says. "Now. Behave yourself." He goes into the room and shuts the door.

There isn't enough time to do more than trade "I hope you had a good day. I love you" and "I love you. Break a leg." That's usual for weekdays when Blaine has a show. It's why the calls on weekends and Mondays are so important. The calls, plus text messages during breaks at work. But even though Kurt and Blaine both know exactly what they're going to say, just hearing each other's voices makes the day better.

The call only takes a few moments, but Kurt has barely hung up when Charlie starts whistling again. Kurt sings back, then opens the door. "Impatient much?" he asks.

Charlie chirps and wags his tail.

"You don't like dancing without a partner?" Kurt teases. "Oh, you are going to LOVE Blaine. But you're stuck with me for now. And I'll dance a little, but I haven't made my dinner yet."

Charlie does his little side-step-and-bob dance. Kurt tries to imitate it until the end of the track - and it's jazz, which means it takes pretty much forever to get to the end of the saxophone solo - but eventually, he excuses himself and goes to cook something. Charlie keeps whistling for him to come back, but he seems to calm down when he hears Kurt sing in response. Kurt cooks quickly, then puts everything onto a plate and heads back into the living room. By the time Kurt has finished eating, he has looked up the lyrics to _Autumn Leaves_ and sung along with Miles Davis and Cannonball Adderly, plus done a search for every jazz standard ever written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein. Eventually, he excuses himself to go wash the dishes and start his evening routine.

By the time he is done in the bathroom, Charlie's head is tucked under his wing. Kurt shuts off the music and the lights, then takes his laptop into the bedroom. Before he goes to sleep, he surfs through pages of advice about how to entertain a cockatiel.

*

Kurt's plans to visit a pet store on Wednesday are dashed by a long, exhausting day at work. He adores Isabelle. Really. She gave him an internship when he arrived in New York with nothing more than a dream, she came to his NYADA performances after the rest of his friends had left the city, and she gave him a real job while he was spinning his wheels, trying to get his first Broadway role. It isn't her fault that he's still in the stop-gap job, or that as much as Kurt loves fashion, he wants to do other things. But... well, the very same qualities that made Isabelle a perfect fairy godmother at one point make her absolutely infuriating at others. And today... today is one of those frustrating times.

There's a new hire. And he missed a deadline. Or rather, he suddenly had to leave town, right before the deadline. And Isabelle was understanding, because of course she was. She's Isabelle. But someone still had to take care of everything. And Kurt's been at vogue.com just long enough that now, that person is him.

It might have been all right if the guy had left behind notes. Well, okay. Technically he did. But the notes appeared to have been organized by a hamster with short-term memory loss, or whatever that guy in _Memento_ had. Kurt knows he should be more charitable, but seriously, he has to go back and do all of the research, _and_ all the fact-checking. And thank goodness that this story didn't require an interview, because Kurt doesn't know what he would have said. _Hi, I know you gave us an hour of your time two days ago, but the interviewer came down with a brain-eating virus that jumped to humans from squirrels last week, so you could please talk to me?_

Eventually Kurt pieces a complete story together. But it's late when he leaves, tapping out a quick, apologetic text to Blaine before he gets onto the subway. And when he gets cell service again, there's a message that Blaine has to put his costume on early today, and he'll text when the show is over in case Kurt is still awake. And Kurt was already running out of spinach and melons and milk, so he stops at the bodega near his place. And although it has fruits and vegetables, it doesn't have his favorite chocolate. It's a terrible, no good, very bad day, and Kurt's dad is in Washington and Blaine is on stage and Kurt just wants to move to Australia.

He drops his bag at the door and carries the food to the kitchen. Charlie whistles as he goes by, and then again when Kurt disappears.

Kurt sighs and turns back to the living room. Charlie is sitting there on his perch, mohawk perky and curious. There are seed husks scattered everywhere - the bottom of the cage, the water dish, even on the living room floor. The spinach has been torn apart. And... was it actually thrown across the room? Because Kurt can't figure out exactly how the spinach got _there_.

Charlie bobs his head and whistles hopefully. Kurt goes to look for his laptop, but it hasn't been plugged in for a while, and its battery is running down. Kurt frowns at it, then looks at his phone. There's a pair of bluetooth speakers around somewhere; they're mostly Blaine's, but they work with Kurt's phone. Kurt looks in several rooms before he realizes that they're in the bedroom, on the table on Blaine's side of the bed, underneath the book that Blaine had just finished reading before leaving for his show. Kurt grabs them and carries them into the living room, then pulls out his phone. Blaine's text is still on the screen, and suddenly Kurt doesn't feel like another evening of unfamiliar music. He connects to the speakers, then looks through his playlists. The album that he chooses has been on his devices for more than a decade, he realizes as he taps _play_.

"I need some comfort music today," Kurt tells Charlie as the overture from the _Wicked_ soundtrack starts. "It's my turn. We'll sing your music again tomorrow, ok?"

Charlie tilts his head. At least he's listening to the music, and not hissing. Kurt nods at him, then takes his emergency groceries into the kitchen to put them away.

The soundtrack is halfway through the first act by the time Kurt has finished prepping his mini-frittata and put it into the oven. Singing along while chopping and sautéing vegetables has done wonders for his mood, and he's ready to take on the mess in Charlie's cage while his dinner finishes cooking. He carries the waste basket into the living room, grabs a broom and a fresh piece of cage liner, and spins through the door, singing.

_Popular_  
_You're going to be pop-U-oo-lar..._

Charlie chirps as Kurt pulls the old liner out of the cage, disposes of it with a flourish, and slides a fresh sheet in. Kurt grins back and keeps singing as he removes the wilted spinach, the water dish, and the partially eaten seeds. Charlie chirps at him as Kurt goes into the kitchen to get some fresh water and some other greens, and then, as Kurt reaches in to attach them to the side of the cage, Charlie takes a cautious step toward Kurt's hand. Kurt holds still and keeps singing as Charlie reaches out his head and nudges Kurt, ever so gently, with his beak. Kurt holds his hand still, letting Charlie rub the little grooves on his beak against Kurt's finger.

But then the stove's timer goes off, and Charlie hops back with a surprised little squawk.

"It's ok," Kurt says. "Don't be scared." But he needs to rescue his dinner before it burns, so he withdraws his hand and goes back into the kitchen.

The food has to cool before Kurt eats it, so he gives Charlie the full performance of _Defying Gravity_ before sitting on the couch with his dinner. By the time Kurt has finished eating and scrubbed the dishes clean, the second act is over. Charlie chirps into the sudden silence. Kurt looks at him, then starts the album from the beginning. After all, Kurt's mouth was full, and he didn't get to sing the entire thing. Charlie is the perfect audience, chirping in place of applause, shaking his tail along with the high notes. So when the album comes the end, Kurt plays it a third time.

Charlie has gone to sleep by the time Kurt's phone buzzes with Blaine's good-night text. Kurt calls him, just to hear his voice, and then falls asleep smiling.

*

Kurt spends Thursday's lunch break watching Youtube videos about cockatiels. How to train them to sing. Toys they like. Ways to make their diet interesting and healthy. It's important to be well-informed before shopping for someone else, after all. And it looks like cockatiels have some quirks. Which is fine. Kurt is hardly one to complain. He just wants to do this well.

Isabelle lets him leave early, as thanks for picking up the extra article the day before. Which means that Kurt can take the long way to the pet store and talk to Blaine while he's walking, but not give anything else away. When he gets to the shop, he puts away his phone and admires the variety of brightly colored things that hang and swing and can be torn to pieces with a beak, because that's apparently what cockatiels do for fun when they aren't appreciating jazz standards. Kurt picks out a handful, plus a skewer for hanging a mixture of different foods, some liner paper, and some more millet for treats. He won't give them to Charlie all at once. In fact, he thinks Blaine might like to play with the ladder with all the bells on it; Kurt can just hide it in their dresser until next week.

During the subway ride home, Kurt searches through the music on his phone, putting together a new playlist of Cole Porter songs. He's singing _You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To_ as he unlocks the door and sets his bags inside. He used to sing that song every time he opened the door, back when he and Blaine had just moved in, during those heady days when they were both college students with weird schedules, when he and his _husband_ had just merged their belongings for good, in a new place that wasn't tainted by old arguments or the sense that one of them had moved into the other's space. Their apartment is both more cluttered and better organized now, familiar and routine, and although they still sing to each other a lot, they aren't as deliberately thematic as they used to be.

Charlie interrupts the song with a whistle.

"Hi there!" Kurt greets him. "Wait until you see what I've got for you. No," he scolds Charlie as the bird bangs his beak on the edge of the cage. "At least give me enough time to take them out of their packaging. No plastic for you." He shakes his finger at Charlie and carries the bags into the kitchen.

It takes a while to sort through all the toys, then prep some fruit treats. Charlie whistles and bangs on his cage again, so Kurt starts the music on his phone. He means to play the new Cole Porter playlist, but he must tap the wrong spot, because the _Wicked_ soundtrack starts again. Charlie doesn't seem to mind; he gets quiet again, giving Kurt time to trim a sheet of the new liner paper to the right size. Kurt smiles to himself and sings along as he pulls out his ruler and checks the measurements.

It takes a couple trips to bring things back into the living room. Plus Kurt needs to change the water in Charlie's dish, and remove the old greens, and dispose of the dirty liner paper. That gives him time to work up to the fun surprises - first the dangling skewer of apple and banana and melon pieces, and then - with a flourish - one of the toys. Charlie whistles and leans towards Kurt's hand as Kurt reaches into the cage and fastens the toy to the roof.

"There," Kurt tells him. "That should be more fun, now."

Charlie looks at the toy, then side-steps along his perch.

Kurt holds his hand still, trying not to breathe, as the bird approaches. When Charlie gets close, Kurt carefully raises his index finger and strokes Charlie's chest feathers.

Charlie lifts one foot and places it on Kurt's finger, then stops and watches Kurt for a moment. Kurt tilts his head and looks back as Charlie carefully shifts his weight and climbs the rest of the way onto Kurt's hand.

He's heavier than Kurt expected, and his talons prick Kurt's finger. Kurt lets him sit there, then slowly moves his finger toward the balls of colored string that are now hanging from the top of the cage. Charlie looks at the toy, then at Kurt, and back at the toy again. For a moment, Kurt expects Charlie to turn his curved little beak up at the ridiculous thing. But then Charlie lifts his foot, grabs part of the toy, and pulls himself off of Kurt's finger.

Kurt finally breathes and withdraws his hand. "The cashier at the bird shop thought you would like that one," he tells Charlie. "Have fun with it." He closes the cage door and watches Charlie poke at one mass of string, then another. "I'm going to go make my dinner now."

He watches for a moment longer, then goes back into the kitchen, humming to himself as he organizes the vegetables for chopping. He has just started on the onion when Charlie whistles again. It's different notes this time. Kurt stops and listens until Charlie does it again, then laughs and sings back.

 _Pop-u-lar... Pop-u-lar_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cockatiel behavior and care references:
> 
> https://www.birdstreetbistro.com/the-cockatiel-handbook/  
> https://www.wikihow.com/Understand-Cockatiel-Gestures  
> https://www.petsmart.com/learning-center/bird-care/cockatiel-care-guide/A0065.html


	5. Chapter 5

Friday is uneventful: a typical day at work, a short but comforting phone call with Blaine, a long evening introducing Charlie to all of Kurt's favorite show tunes. And then, finally, it's the weekend. Time for longer calls with Blaine, conversations with Burt and maybe Carole, an uninterrupted hour or more of writing.

But first Kurt can have a lazy Saturday morning, making coffee at home, cleaning Charlie's cage, planning a longer shopping trip. Kurt has finished washing out the food and water dishes and changing the cage liner when someone knocks on his door, then opens it.

"You were right," Santana calls to a person behind her. "He's awake."

"Of course I'm right," Brittany replies. "I'm a genius. Remember?" She walks over to Kurt and hands him a paper cup emblazoned with the name of his favorite coffee shop.

"Thanks...?" Kurt looks from Brittany to Santana and back.

"Yes," Santana says. " _Thanks._ Because Brittany is sweet enough to bring you coffee when you don't show up at the meeting to plan our anniversary party."

Kurt blinks. That's right. They were going to meet at the coffee shop this morning, and he completely forgot about it. "Sorry about that," he says. "Thanks, Britt." He takes a sip of the coffee and has to force himself not to spit it out.

"I know Blaine always brings you coffee," Brittany says. "So I got you something to remind you of him."

Kurt coughs, trying to simultaneously keep the taste out of his mouth, avoid choking, and keep the coffee off of his shirt. "What's in this?"

"I asked for shots of everything that reminds me of Blaine," she replies. "Like the breath mints that he used to hand out before Glee practice, and raspberry hair gel, and the pumpkin pie that the two of you always bring to the Thanksgiving potluck."

Kurt puts the cup on the coffee table. And then pushes it further away, so he won't accidentally drink any more of it. "Umm. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Brittany says with a smile.

"The last time we talked, you promised to find a place for the party," Santana says. "So...?"

"Isabelle came through." Kurt finds himself a bit relieved that Santana is already getting down to business. "Let me find the details." He has a Moleskin notebook entirely devoted to the anniversary party plans, but it's sitting on a table in the bedroom. "I'll be back in a minute." He doesn't say to make themselves at home. They'll do whatever they want, anyway.

It takes longer than a minute. The notebook isn't on Kurt's bedside table, and it isn't on the dresser, either. Eventually Kurt finds it on the desk, hidden behind his laptop. He hurries back into the living room in hopes of limiting the destruction that's inevitable when Santana and Brittany are left unsupervised for too long.

Something flutters past Kurt's head. He squeaks and ducks, covering himself with the notebook, until he realizes that it isn't a bat or an extremely large moth.

"Charlie!" He watches in horror as the bird flies from one corner to another. "How did you get out?" He looks from Santana to Brittany.

Brittany shrugs. "Birds need to fly," she says.

"Here??" Kurt looks around the room. There are a dozen things that really should never experience bird droppings, and another ten or so that could be easily broken. "How am I going to get him back into his cage?"

"He'll go in when he's ready," Brittany says, and holds out her hand. Charlie swoops down and lands on it. "See?"

"Ok," Kurt says. "Put him back now. Please."

"He's not ready yet." Brittany looks at Charlie and shrugs. And maybe Charlie agrees with her, because he takes off for another loop around the room, then alights on the roof of his cage.

Kurt watches with trepidation.

"Settle down, Keebler." Santana rolls her eyes. "Brittany's right. The bird needs exercise. Just sit - or stand, it's not like I care if you're comfortable or not. But tell us about the party space."

So Kurt perches on the edge of the recliner and tells them about Isabelle's secret party venue. "There's space for dancing," he promises. "And there are tables and chairs there, too. We just need decorations, food, and music. I was thinking that we could get catering from that bakery near your place. And for decorations, wood and turquoise are traditional, and we can probably work with that as a starting point..."

"We should have a bird theme," Brittany interrupts. "Everyone can wear costumes, and we can get some of those rubber chickens to put on the tables."

Kurt blinks in horror. "No."

"The chickens will be rubber, so they'll still be vegan," Brittany promises. "I won't let Rachel yell at you about them."

"NO," Kurt repeats. "And I don't even know if Rachel will be there; she's got a show out of town."

"Then we can have real chickens!" Brittany says brightly.

"If you want to wear feathers and do the chicken dance, Britt, I won't stop you. But there will be NO rubber chickens at my anniversary party." Kurt glares at her.

"What about the music?" Santana asks. "My band is going to be there anyway."

"I can ask Mercedes to send you some of her latest songs," Kurt replies, settling his face into something less threatening. "Your band can back her up, right? And let everyone else take turns, too?"

Charlie whistles from the top of his cage. _Pop-u-lar_. Kurt smiles at him and sings back.

Brittany looks surprised. "That's not what he usually whistles."

"I've been singing with him," Kurt says. "Listen." He gets a few lines into _Till There Was You_ before Santana interrupts.

"You've had the bird a week and you've already got him singing show tunes?" She rolls her eyes. "Seriously?"

"He likes them." Kurt's a little defensive.

Charlie tilts his head, then takes off to fly around the room again.

"Maybe we should have a karaoke machine," Brittany suggests. "Birds like show tunes."

"That would be better than forcing my band to back up Trouty Mouth," Santana says. "God only knows what hillbilly crap he'll sing once he starts drinking."

There's a fluttering beside Kurt's head, and he tries not to jump as Charlie lands on the back of the chair behind him.

"I told you that Charlie would like Kurt," Brittany says to Santana. "Charlie doesn't hate _everybody_."

"Just everyone in my band," Santana finishes. "I know. But I thought Hummel and I shared some kind of bitch gene."

Kurt narrows his eyes at Santana. "You brought me a bird that you thought would _hate_ me?"

Santana shrugs. But Kurt is distracted from a pithy comeback by something nibbling on his ear. He looks out of the corner of his eye and sees a flash of an orange cheek.

"See, Charlie's kissing him," Brittany says.

It tickles. Kurt twitches away and looks Charlie in the eye. Charlie tilts his head, but doesn't look the least bit apologetic.

"So we've got a venue, and plans for music and food," Kurt says, collecting himself and trying to ignore the beak that is still too close to his head. "I'll deal with the decorations, and I can call the bakery about the food, too. Can you handle the music?" It's the least dangerous option, given that both of the women love music, almost as much as Kurt and Blaine do. Plus Santana's band is pretty good.

"Can there be feathers in the centerpieces at least?" Brittany asks.

"I'll talk to a florist." It's not a promise. Kurt can always claim innocence if Brittany remembers the request in two weeks.

"Then I think we're done here," Santana says. "Have fun with your bird." She gets up and heads for the door.

"He'd like you if you sang to him, you know," Brittany says as she follows Santana out the door. "Everyone likes you when you sing to them."

The door closes before Kurt can hear the rest of the argument. He sighs and gets up to pour out the coffee, but only makes it halfway to the kitchen before he hears the sound of wings.

"Not the kitchen, Charlie," he says as he turns around. "I don't think feathers and stoves go together." And then he takes a step backwards, squeezing his eyes shut, because otherwise he would get hit in the face with a wing as Charlie comes in for a landing.

Charlie's talons dig into Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt thinks that it's a good thing that he's not wearing one of his loosely knitted sweaters. And then Charlie moves his feet until he has settled into place, his head beside Kurt's ear.

Kurt twists to try to look at the bird. "Fine. I'll empty the coffee in the bathroom sink instead."

Charlie stays on Kurt's shoulder, riding from the bathroom to the living room to the bedroom. Eventually, Kurt figures out how to settle down at his computer to do a little writing without dislodging his bird.

It's hard to write with a feathered critic on his shoulder. Every time Kurt types a word, he glances back at Charlie's beady little eyes, then second-guesses himself, deletes the word, and starts over. It doesn't help that Charlie chirps whenever Kurt moves his hands too much. Finally, Kurt sets the timer on his phone and forces himself to type without looking up for fifteen minutes. When he's done, he has words. Maybe not good words, but they are words. He takes a breath and gets ready to read through them when he feels a nudge against his cheek. It's a little soft, but with rough edges.

Kurt turns his head, and ends up with feathers in his mouth. He looks away and tries to spit out the taste, and feels Charlie rubbing against his neck. Kurt raises his hand, trying not to turn his face this time, and the bird butts his head on it.

Finally, Kurt sighs and stands up from the desk. "I can't tell what you're doing," he explains. "I'm just going to go into the bathroom so I can see you in the mirror. Okay?"

Charlie just rubs his head on Kurt's finger again. When Kurt gets to the bathroom and can finally see what he's doing, he tries lifting one finger at a time, just to see how Charlie reacts. The bird immediately tilts his head and pushes against the raised finger. Finally, after Kurt gets tired of twisting his arms, he coaxes Charlie onto his finger and carries him into the living room.

"My shoulder is tired," he explains as he sets Charlie on top of his cage.

Charlie bobs his head and chirps.

"You want to dance some more?" Kurt asks him. "Ok. Fine. But you need to let me get my phone, okay?" He keeps glancing back as he walks across the room, but this time, the bird stays in place as Kurt queues up a playlist.

Charlie lifts his little bird-shoulders as he struts across the top of the cage. Kurt laughs and shimmies back.

"We'll have to tell Santana that you prefer my dancing to hers," he smirks. It won't make up for the years of insults, but a little payback will feel good.

Charlie chirps and raises his wings, but doesn't take off.

Kurt grins and starts singing along with the track that's playing on his phone.

*

By lunchtime, Charlie finally looks tired. Kurt coaxes the bird onto his finger and puts him back into his cage, then makes some lunch. He saves a few vegetables for Charlie, hanging them from the roof of the cage, and they eat in companionable silence. Kurt goes back into the kitchen to wash up, and Charlie trades bars of _Popular_ with him until the dishes are done. When Kurt comes back, Charlie fluffs his feathers and settles down on his perch, looking as contented as a bird possibly can. Which is good, because Kurt needs to buy groceries, and then have his Saturday Skype sex with Blaine.

Charlie is asleep, head tucked under his wing, when Kurt gets back from his errands.

*

Kurt wipes himself clean, then rolls onto his side and smiles at the computer screen. Blaine is already looking back at him.

"One more week," Blaine says.

Kurt nods. "I'm already making a grocery list." Blaine likes Cherry Garcia ice cream. Kurt doesn't get the appeal, but he's happy to kiss the flavor off of Blaine's lips.

"And then it will be our anniversary," Blaine grins. "Did you keep Brittany from planning something disastrous after we talked last week?"

"Oh my god, I hope so," Kurt replies. "Today she said that we should have rubber chickens as centerpieces. Honestly, I thought planning things with _Rachel_ was bad."

" _Chickens?_ " Blaine starts laughing. "Where did she ever get that idea?"

Kurt swallows. In his post-orgasmic haze, he almost forgot that the trail of Brittany-logic would lead back to a reveal of Kurt's little feathered surprise.

But Blaine closes his eyes for a moment, as if he's trying to catch his breath. "Never mind. I know. It's Brittany."

"That way lies madness," Kurt agrees, hoping that Blaine will be satisfied with that explanation.

Blaine opens his mouth as if he's about to say something else, but he's interrupted by his phone singing _'let's do the time warp again...'_ Kurt smiles; Blaine still hasn't changed his alarm back after Kurt set the sound, even though Blaine had threatened to. "I need to get ready for tonight's show," Blaine apologizes. "I love you. Talk to you tomorrow morning?"

"I'll be ready," Kurt says. "I love you, too."

The Skype window goes blank, and Kurt stretches, then goes to find his clothes.

*

On Sunday morning, Kurt lets Charlie out of his cage as soon as Kurt has finished eating breakfast. After a few flights around the living room, Charlie lands on Kurt's shoulder and stays there while Kurt gets out his laptop and puts in a solid hour of writing. It doesn't even bother Kurt that much, except that he needs to wriggle his shoulders to loosen them up after sitting, asymmetrically weighted, for so long.

Charlie settles back in his cage, happily poking at his toy balls of string, in time for Kurt to walk to the park for his Sunday communication practice with Blaine.

It's Blaine's turn to go first this week. He's outside at a park as well this time, and he does his best to describe the jackets and scarves in addition to the antics of the squirrels. Kurt repeats back what he remembers, judgment-free, and then tells Blaine about the clouds scuttering across the sky. When it's Blaine's turn to repeat, he remembers the clouds that looked like animals and musical instruments, but gets a couple designers' names wrong. It's not bad at all.

And then it's time for the next part. "Ok," Kurt starts. "Your turn. What do you want to talk about?"

There's a moment of silence, long enough for Kurt to start to get concerned.

"Kurt," Blaine starts. And now Kurt is definitely worried. "Is something going on?"

Kurt blinks. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Blaine says. "You tell me."

"I..." Kurt tries to figure out what Blaine might be getting at. "I've been working on writing my script. I had that long day at Vogue on Wednesday - when I missed talking to you because I left work late and your call time was early - but I thought you knew about that and it was ok."

Blaine sighs. "No, you're right, Wednesday was fine. It's just... yesterday, when you were talking about Brittany's centerpiece idea... it sounded like there was something you weren't telling me."

Oh. "Brittany and Santana came over yesterday to talk about the anniversary party," Kurt says. "They didn't know that Isabelle is letting us use her secret party spot." Kurt stops, trying to remember all the conversations that he has had in the past week. "I texted you about the venue. Didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," Blaine says. "And you had ideas for decorating, too."

"Yes," Kurt confirms. "Ideas that did NOT include rubber chickens. Which hopefully Brittany has already forgotten. Plus - oh, I don't think I told you this yet - I talked to a caterer, too."

"Great," Blaine says. "That's great."

"And that's pretty much it, except for the invitations," Kurt finishes.

"It is?" Blaine sounds uncertain.

"It is," Kurt replies.

"You're sure," Blaine prods.

"I'm SURE," Kurt emphasizes. "Why is this so weird all of a sudden? What do _you_ think is going on, Blaine?"

Blaine sighs. "You realize that we've never successfully planned something like this, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Kurt makes a mental list. "There was that New Year's party with Rachel after she came back to NYADA. God, that was insane. Oh, and the party for my dad's birthday last year. Not insane, but a different kind of challenge, given that we thought Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was going to show up."

"I mean something for _us_ ," Blaine clarifies. "We never planned our own wedding. Just working on it was so stressful that we broke up, Kurt. We barely even got back together before we got married. One moment we were seeing other people, and then suddenly we were at Brittany and Santana's wedding, getting shoved into tuxes. I think we made up our vows on the spot."

"Which is why we're holding this party," Kurt reminds him. "So we can invite all of the people who were disappointed that they didn't get to come to our actual wedding. Your brother, your father, Isabelle, all your Warbler friends..."

"Yes," Blaine says. "But..."

"But?" Kurt prompts.

"But... I mean..."

Kurt counts to ten. He has to be patient, he knows he needs to be patient when Blaine is having trouble saying something that he thinks is going to be difficult.

"You're not annoyed?" Blaine finally asks.

"At Brittany's atrocious taste?" Kurt asks. "Of course I'm annoyed. You know me."

"No," Blaine says. "I mean yes, I do know you. But no, I'm not worried about you being annoyed at Brittany. I'm worried that you're annoyed at me. Me, not being there to help."

"You're handling the invitations, right?" Kurt reminds him. "Oh dear god, please tell me you're handling the invitations, because if Brittany does the invitations, they'll all be in crayon, and I may never live that down at Vogue."

"I'm handling the invitations," Blaine confirms. "Or I will, as soon as you tell me that the time and place are definitely set."

"They're set," Kurt says. "I'll text you the details."

"Great," Blaine says.

"But...?" Kurt knows that tone of voice. Blaine isn't totally settled yet.

"There really isn't anything else that you're not telling me?" Blaine asks.

"Blaine. It's all fine." It _is_ all fine. Even if Kurt is determined to keep at least some things a surprise. "I just miss you."

"Okay," Blaine says. "I miss you, too. And I'm probably reading too much into us missing each other."

"That's got to be it," Kurt agrees. "But you'll be back one week from tonight, right?"

"Late evening," Blaine confirms. "I forwarded the flight info, didn't I?"

"I'll double-check and let you know if I can't find it," Kurt says. "Any special requests for dinner? I'll make something that we can heat up when you get in."

"Minestrone?" Blaine suggests. "With some of that crusty bread?"

"Perfect," Kurt agrees. He waits for a moment.

"Your turn to talk," Blaine says.

Kurt laughs. "I've already been talking," he says. "I forgot that we were doing the rant-and-listen thing."

"But we're still listening, even if we aren't taking turns," Blaine says. "Right?"

"Right," Kurt agrees. "This is us working on our communication. Like couple who has been happily married for nearly five years." He waits for a moment, but Blaine doesn't respond. "Right?"

"Right," Blaine sighs. "I should get going," he says. "I love you."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Kurt replies. "And I love you, too."


	6. Chapter 6

Monday's phone conversation settles any worries that Kurt might have had after he talked to Blaine on Sunday.

"So I sent the invitations today." Blaine pauses. "I hope it's ok that I sent e-vites. I know you like nice paper and calligraphy and..."

"It's fine," Kurt interrupts. "My boss offered a great venue at the last minute. There wasn't time for anything else." And if Kurt were being honest - and he is, just not vocally and brutally honest at this particular moment - it's a lot more warning than anyone had for their actual wedding.

"Good. Because I've started to get RSVPs already, and I think you should hear them."

"Should I be worried?" Kurt asks. He's mostly teasing.

Blaine laughs. "No. Entertained, maybe. Want to play Guess the Guest?"

"Sure." Kurt settles back on the bed. "Read away."

"Ok. Mystery guest number one. ' _What do you mean you got married, Squirt?? Ok, so I'm glad you decided to invite me this time. See ya soon.'_ "

"Oh. So this isn't a _game_ game." Kurt tries for sophisticated and disdainful, but he's laughing too hard inside to manage it. "Not one you expect me to lose, at least. That's Cooper."

"This is our anniversary party," Blaine says. "I hope _nobody_ loses."

"Fair enough." It's cute. Kurt isn't going to argue about it.

"Here's another," Blaine continues. " _'You know we wouldn't miss it for the world.'_ And in the same message: _'I can't believe it's been five years already. We love you both so much.'_ "

Kurt smiles. Definitely no losing here. "That's my dad and Carole."

The next ones are easy, too: Mercedes, Artie, Sam, Tina. But finally, one is a bit more challenging.

" _'Thank you for the kind invitation to your anniversary party. I am looking forward to the celebration.'_ " Blaine waits.

"That's so... correct." Kurt thinks out loud. "It's Dalton-level politeness. Wes?"

"Nope." Blaine sounds like he's trying not to give anything away.

"Another Warbler, then. David? Trent?"

"No, and no."

"It can't be Jeff or Nick. They never quite mastered social conventions." Kurt thinks. Oh, no. It couldn't be. "Blaine Devon Anderson-Hummel, if you invited Sebastian Smythe to our anniversary party..."

"NEVER," Blaine promises. "Never."

"Good." Kurt breathes. "I was worried for a moment, because I've seen the inappropriate Christmas cards that Sebastian sends every year, and I know you feel like that sort of thing creates obligations and you don't want to be rude..."

"Kurt." Blaine cuts him off. "Trust me. I've learned a _few_ things in the past five years."

"Ok," Kurt concedes. "You have." He frowns. "But I'm running out of ideas." He runs through a list of names in his head. "Wait. Jane was almost a Warbler..."

"I'll give you a clue," Blaine laughs. "It's not a Warbler."

Kurt wracks his brain. "But nobody in the New Directions ever had that command of etiquette," he says. "Other than Jane. Or maybe Quinn."

"Nope. Not Quinn." There's a note creeping into Blaine's voice that is simultaneously frustrating and adorable. Kurt isn't sure if he should be excited or worried, because he has heard that note in the lead-up to various Valentine's Day antics.

"Fine, Blaine." Kurt tries not to sound impatient. "You win this one. Just tell me."

"It's my father," Blaine says. "He can come."

"And your mom?"

"She RSVP'd separately," Blaine says. "Weeks ago. But she didn't know if my father would be free. And it turns out that he is."

"That's good." Kurt frowns. "It _is_ good, isn't it?" It was weird, the way Blaine's mom had gone to Santana's and Brittany's (and his and Blaine's...) wedding without Blaine's father. Blaine had tried to explain it: his mom met Santana's mom at a PFLAG meeting when Santana first came out, and they'd become friends. And his father hadn't felt any reason to drive to Indiana to be a plus-one at the wedding of a couple of strangers. But... well, Kurt hopes that, no matter how much he and Blaine grow as individuals in the next couple decades, neither of them is ever willing to miss the chance to be on the other's arm at that kind of event.

Blaine sighs. "It's fine," he says. "It's not Burt and Carole. But it's still fine."

They talk a bit more about the plans, and then have phone sex, and then hang up.

Kurt is amazed that Charlie behaves through the entire call.

*

It's a good week.

Blaine will be back on Sunday night. And Kurt maintains his external composure. Really. He does. But inside, he's bouncing like Charlie does when he sees Kurt come through the door.

That's not a metaphor. Charlie LITERALLY bounces on his perch each night when Kurt gets the door open. His mohawk perks up. He chirps loudly. If Kurt is too slow to put on some music, Charlie starts tapping his beak on the bars of his cage, then flaps his wings and sings _So What_ and _Popular_ , and then Kurt has to let him out of the cage and carry him around on his shoulder until the bird finally settles down.

But most days Kurt starts the music before he goes into the kitchen to cook, and Charlie is happy singing some cheerful call-and-response until Kurt has eaten something. And then, after Kurt takes Charlie out of the cage so he can fly around the room a little, it's time to rehearse.

Kurt has a plan. It's not the most elaborate serenade that he has ever put on - after all, there _was_ that marching band once - but despite the intimacy of the apartment-as-performance-space, it's going to be an impressive production. This time, he's going to create a medley of at least three different love songs to perform with the bird that he's about to give to his husband as an anniversary gift. There won't be candles, to keep Charlie safe, but Kurt has found several strings of LED Christmas lights (warm white, not the colder blue-tinted ones that make Blaine's skin look washed out), and he's ordered a small welcome-home/happy-early-anniversary ice cream cake that he'll pick up on Sunday afternoon.

Charlie is an impressive duet partner. He picks up melodies faster than half of Kurt's friends, and although his dance moves are restricted to moving along his perch, they're not bad. And what Charlie lacks in variety he makes up for in enthusiasm. When he gets going, he spreads his wings and shrugs his little bird-shoulders and struts along the perch.

It's adorable. Blaine is going to LOVE this.

And although Blaine presumably expects good food and great sex when he gets home, there's no way he'll be prepared for THIS.

*

The minestrone is cooked and sitting in the refrigerator, waiting to be warmed up. There's a loaf of crusty bread sitting on the cutting board. The LED lights are hung and lit. The ice cream cake is in a styrofoam cooler, well-packed with dry ice, unlikely to melt even if Blaine's flight is delayed. (Which it isn't. Or shouldn't be. Kurt has been tracking it on his phone.) And Kurt is dressed to take the subway out to JFK and bring his husband home.

He reaches the terminal and is already waiting at the baggage claim when he gets Blaine's text.

_On the ground!_

_At baggage claim,_ Kurt replies.

_Going to be a while. I'm in the back of the plane._

Kurt smiles as a series of photos appear in his messages. A toddler, peeking over the back of a seat while an adult stands in the aisle, reaching for luggage. A blue stuffed elephant, which may be quite large, or may be really close to Blaine's phone. Blaine's face wearing an extra-wide smile, beside a giggling preschool girl.

 _The family got divided into different rows, and she was seated beside me,_ Blaine texts. _She says her name is Elsa, but..._

The next photo shows the girl's costume.

 _Did you sing with her?_ Kurt asks.

Blaine responds with an emoji that might be attempted innocence, or might be guilt. It's hard to tell without seeing movement of the eyebrows.

_She promises not to make it snow until we get home._

Kurt is briefly jealous of the kids, trapped with the full intensity of Blaine's charm. But he can be patient. Because very, very soon Blaine will be home. With Kurt. Just the two of them. Alone.

He texts a response, instead. _Tell Her Majesty that I appreciate her generosity and thoughtfulness. And so do my shoes._

 _She giggled,_ Blaine replies.

 _Still working on regal, I guess,_ Kurt types.

 _Maybe you should give her lessons,_ Blaine replies. And then, before Kurt can respond, _We're moving. See you down there._

Kurt looks up and sees that the baggage area is already filling up with passengers and their friends. It's mediocre people-watching, unfortunately - hugs and conversations, no over-the-top drama, plenty of run-of-the-mill fashion disasters but nothing spectacular. Kurt decides to move to a place where he'll be able to see Blaine's bag as it comes out. If he has to wait, at least he can speed their trip home.

The warning for the baggage carousel blasts out before Kurt expects it, and the conveyor creaks to life. He watches the luggage tumble out, one indistinguishable black suitcase after another. Finally he sees Blaine's: bright red plaid with a blue tag. He grabs it and is dragging it to the side when his phone chimes with another text.

 _There's a hot guy stealing my luggage,_ it says, below a photo of his back as he pulls the suitcase from the carousel.

Kurt spins around and finds himself in Blaine's arms. They just hold each other for a moment, letting touch take the place of six weeks of imagining. Kurt breathes in the smell of Blaine: the hair gel, the sweat from dancing on stage, the cream he used to remove his stage makeup before changing for the flight, the scent of airplane disinfectant...

Well, the smells aren't _all_ familiar. Or all _Blaine_. But his body feels the same under the blazer he put on for the flight, and his arms are as tight around Kurt as they've ever been.

"I've missed you," Blaine whispers into Kurt's neck.

Kurt closes his eyes to just _feel_ for a moment more, then steps back. "Welcome back to New York," he says. "Are you prepared to deal with the subway?"

Blaine laughs. "Let's go home."

*

They don't try to talk on the subway. Instead, they stand facing each other on either side of Blaine's luggage, basking in the awareness that they're both _there_ , in the same city. Though Blaine keeps making some weird faces, which confuse Kurt until he realizes that there's a tiny puffball of a dog in the arms of a woman behind him. The dog looks like it's smiling back at Blaine, though it's probably just panting from the stress of being carried on the crowded subway car. Kurt nudges Blaine with his foot as they approach their stop.

"You don't have to flirt with other people's pets," Kurt teases as they lug Blaine's suitcase out of the doors.

Blaine shrugs. "It was adorable."

Kurt grins to himself. _Just you wait,_ he thinks to himself. A panting dust mop has nothing on a rouge-cheeked, mohawk-wearing cockatiel dancing to a medley of love songs.

*

"Welcome home!" Kurt opens the door with a flourish.

"I thought we were going to turn the lights off to save electricity..." Blaine starts. And then he looks at the way the lights are strung around the room, and the arrangement of flowers on the end table, and stops. "Oh."

Kurt nudges the suitcase out of the way and pushes the door closed. "Oh," he confirms, and leans in for a long, slow kiss. One of Blaine's hands cups the back of Kurt's head, and the other wraps around his waist. Kurt responds by pushing Blaine back against the newly closed door and running his tongue along the inside of Blaine's lips. They taste like gummy bears, and Kurt is about to tease Blaine about his airport nutrition when they're interrupted by a _squawk._

Blaine pulls away. "Kurt, is there a window open? Because it sounds like there's a bird in here."

Kurt takes a step back so Blaine can see the entire living room. "Surprise."

Blaine stares. "Kurt," he starts. "Kurt. Is that a _cockatiel?_ "

Kurt nods. "Happy anniversary," he says. "A little early."

"You bought a cockatiel??" Blaine walks over to the cage and tilts his head at Charlie.

"I didn't _buy_ him," Kurt says. "He used to belong to the drummer for Santana's band. You know, the guy who sings really badly when he gets drunk? Ok, actually he belonged to the drummer's girlfriend, but she went to LA and he wasn't happy. The bird, I mean. The bird wasn't happy." Kurt breathes as he watches Blaine circle around the cage. "Blaine, I'd like you to meet Charlie."

"Hi, Charlie." Blaine sounds delighted. "May I feed him something?"

"Sure," Kurt says. "Right. I've got some spinach in the kitchen. I'll just wash it off. You can pull that old kale out of there. I usually give him some fruit in the morning and vegetables and seeds at night..." He opens the refrigerator, grabs a leaf, and rinses it off. "Here. The kale is attached to a food holder on the back of the cage..."

He stops. Blaine's hand is poised in front of the open door, but Charlie... Charlie has pulled back onto the far end of his perch. As Blaine starts to reach into the cage, Charlie suddenly steps forward, feathers puffed up and beak open.

"Wait..." Kurt warns Blaine.

And then Charlie lunges forward and lets out a loud, aggressive _hiss_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for reunions. But I also have a thing for complications.


	7. Chapter 7

"CHARLIE!" Kurt scolds as Blaine pulls his hand back. "Stop that right now. That's BLAINE. We LIKE Blaine. We were practicing to SING for Blaine."

Charlie's feathers settle a bit, but he doesn't back off. As he looks from Kurt to Blaine and back again, his mohawk rises and curls over his head like the plume on the hat of a rather grumpy and defensive courtier.

"Sorry about that," Kurt says as he reaches into the cage to pluck the old kale from its holder. "He hissed at me at first, too." He holds out his hand for the spinach.

"How long have you had him?" Blaine asks as he gives the spinach back to Kurt.

"Two weeks yesterday," Kurt tells him. He snaps the spinach into place, withdraws his hand, and closes the door. Charlie looks at him, then side-steps along his perch until he reaches the new food. "In the morning. Before I was even awake. Santana just showed up while I was still in bed, believe it or not, and left him with me."

"I knew we should have gotten that key back from Santana and Brittany." Blaine watches Charlie a bit more cautiously now. "I know they took good care of the plants, but they're awfully unpredictable. If Brittany decided that she needed to get rid of all of your scarves in order to prevent an alien invasion or the heat death of the universe or something... Well, you know that Santana wouldn't stop her."

"I don't know. I mean five... six... seven years ago, sure. But they're a lot more responsible now." Kurt bobs his head back at Charlie.

"Okay." Blaine doesn't sound convinced.

"Fine," Kurt concedes. "Brittany MIGHT replace all my scarves with hideous neck gaiters or something." There was the coffee, after all. And the rubber chicken centerpieces.

"I can ask about the key," Blaine offers.

Kurt turns to look at Blaine, still in his travel blazer with his laptop case hanging from his shoulder, and remembers the rest of the welcome-home plan. "Charlie and I had an entire performance planned for you, but I'm not sure he's up for it, after all. We could just heat up the minestrone. And I bought ice cream cake."

"Ice cream cake?" Blaine perks up.

They go into the kitchen to eat. Kurt only sings back to Charlie a few times.

*

The bedroom is still dark when Kurt's alarm goes off. Blaine is wrapped around him, smelling of sex and shampoo, and the entire concept of morning feels like some kind of evil conspiracy. But Kurt blinks his eyes open anyway, and is greeted by a mess of dark curls. Blaine murmurs something, rolls over, and hides his face in Kurt's pillow.

Kurt yawns, then turns to kiss the exposed part of Blaine's ear. "Just to be clear," Kurt whispers, "I'm not the one who hides from the light in the morning."

Blaine mutters something about pancakes, but doesn't open his eyes. Kurt laughs quietly as he slips out from underneath Blaine's arm.

Charlie untucks his head and gives a sleepy chirp as Kurt pads into the kitchen. There's still three-quarters of a cantaloup in the refrigerator, so Kurt cuts himself several neat slices to mix with his yogurt, and sets aside four chunks for Charlie. He preps his coffee in the Aeropress (Blaine's purchase; Kurt will admit that it was a good one if he is pushed), starts some water boiling, and delivers the cantaloup to Charlie's cage. Charlie perks up, wagging his tail and whistling phrases from _Popular_.

"Shhh," Kurt whispers. "Blaine's still sleeping. Let me make my coffee, and then I'll keep you company while I eat. Okay?"

Charlie bobs his head, like he's agreeing, then hops onto another perch to start pecking at the cantaloup.

Breakfast is mostly calm, given that Charlie is too busy eating to sing while Kurt sips his coffee. But when Kurt goes to wash his dirty dishes, Charlie starts whistling _So What_. Kurt sings back, to keep Charlie from progressing to loud squawks. Then it's time for Kurt's shower, which normally works out well because Kurt sings in the shower anyways, and Charlie is content whistling along.

And then Kurt is dressed, his hair is styled, and he's ready to face the city. He gives Charlie a warning look before he heads out the door. "Behave yourself," he says. "Blaine is on a different schedule right now, and he needs his sleep." Charlie tilts his head, as if he's listening. "Maybe we'll take you out and let you dance with him this evening, ok?"

Charlie doesn't make any sounds as Kurt slips out the door.

*

It's 10 am before Blaine texts. _Is it ok if I eat the cantaloup that's in the fridge?_

 _Good morning :)_ , Kurt replies. _And of course you can eat the cantaloup._

 _Thanks_ , Blaine replies. _I wasn't sure if you were saving it. The refrigerator is organized differently than before I left._

 _Not really,_ Kurt responds. _There are just a bunch more vegetables for Charlie._

 _Ah._ It's hard to tell how to read Blaine's text with just the words on the screen.

 _???_ Kurt types. Then, _Was Charlie ok this morning?_

 _He's fine,_ Blaine responds. _Squawked at me and everything._

 _Before or after you woke up?_ Kurt asks.

 _Before,_ Blaine admits. _But it's fine._

 _Ok._ Kurt decides not to press the issue.

 _I was going to go get some groceries,_ Blaine sends. _There's a new recipe I want to try. Rachel got something like this at a vegan restaurant when she saw my show._

 _You want to try a recipe that RACHEL liked?_ Kurt asks. _Who are you, and what did you do with my husband?_

 _It was good,_ Blaine argues. _Here. See._ He sends a link to a vegan curry. _I saw the spinach and sweet potatoes in the fridge, and thought I could get some coconut milk and garbanzo beans._

 _Those were for Charlie,_ Kurt explains. _Though you could roast part of a sweet potato without the oil or salt. Supposedly they like them better if they're cooked._

 _I'll do that,_ Blaine replies. _And I'll get some more vegetables for Charlie. Call when you take lunch?_

 _Of course,_ Kurt replies.

 _Later,_ Blaine texts. _xoxo_

*

"Hey, you." Blaine's voice is as bright and fond as ever.

"Hey, yourself," Kurt smiles. "How was your morning?"

"I had a lovely walk down to the bodega," Blaine says. "The stuck-up cat is still there. But there's a new clerk. We had a nice talk about fresh ginger and cilantro."

Kurt laughs. Of course Blaine would make a new friend while buying groceries.

"How was your morning?" Blaine asks, after waiting to make sure that Kurt wasn't going to respond.

"Pretty normal," Kurt says. "Elise got dumped this weekend, so Isabelle sent the intern out to buy comfort food. And the latest article theme is questionable, but I'll be able to work with it. I guess."

"You always do." There's a smile in Blaine's voice.

"I specialize in making awful things better," Kurt agrees.

There's a muffled squawk in the background.

"How's Charlie doing?" Kurt asks.

"He's fine," Blaine says. "I think he wants to fly or something."

"Probably," Kurt agrees. "I usually take him out in the evening when I get home."

The stove's buzzer goes off, somewhere in the distance. "I need to get that," Blaine says. "The sweet potatoes are done." There's a click of the bedroom door unlatching, and suddenly both the bird and stove noises are louder. "I need to put the phone down while I get the hot pads out," Blaine explains. The buzzer stops, but Charlie continues to make impatient noises that are only partly masked by the banging of the oven door and the pans being set down. "There." The squawks suddenly cut out as Blaine closes the kitchen door. "Sorry about that," he says.

"You're cooking," Kurt replies. "I get to come home tonight and eat a dinner prepared by my amazing husband. And you're _sorry_?"

Blaine is silent for a moment, and then a shrugging emoji appears on Kurt's screen. Kurt is about to respond when Chase walks in and drops a to-go box on Kurt's desk.

"Chase says that I need to eat before our meeting." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Apparently I was grouchy last week."

"I'll let you go, then," Blaine says. "See you tonight!"

"Love you," Kurt replies.

Blaine texts a heart emoji. "Love you, too," he says.

*

The apartment smells delicious, like sautéed onions and ginger and curry. Kurt breathes it in and is briefly pleased that he didn't argue too strongly against eating something that Rachel recommended.

"I'm in the kitchen!" Blaine calls.

"I can tell," Kurt responds. He stops at Charlie's cage on the way across the living room, singing _So What_ back to the bird as Charlie bobs and struts.

"Do you want to let Charlie fly a bit before dinner?" Blaine asks, sticking his head out of the kitchen. "He's been flapping his wings at me all day."

"No, he should be fine," Kurt replies. "Right, Charlie?"

Charlie wags his tail in response.

"I usually take him out and let him fly a little after dinner," Kurt explains. "No feathers in the kitchen, right, Charlie? That's our house rule, isn't it?"

Charlie chirps back, then bobs his head and whistles _Popular_ at Kurt.

"Okay..." Blaine looks uncertainly from Kurt to Charlie and back. "I just need to add some lime juice and cilantro and it will be ready."

"Can I do anything?" Kurt asks. "I didn't expect to be so completely cared for when you got home."

Blaine gives Kurt a look that makes Kurt wonder if he is still wearing his clothes, but then turns back to the stove. "Grab some bowls and put rice in them." He nods towards the rice cooker. "Then put the yogurt on the table. It's supposed to be drizzled on top. There's a bowl of sliced almonds and some cilantro, too - you can put those on the table."

Kurt prepares the bowls, and Blaine ladles the curry onto the rice, then adds the yogurt, almonds, and cilantro. It's beautiful, yellow and orange and green, and it's delicious, and Kurt and Blaine eat and smile at each other. A nice dinner at home after six weeks apart - it's not like all their other reunions, because it's quiet and domestic and...

_Squawk._

"Just a little longer, Charlie!" Kurt calls. "Sorry," he says to Blaine. "It's just that I've been eating in the living room while you were gone, and Charlie's used to it."

"You can go out there," Blaine offers. "Unless you want seconds. I'll just finish up and put the leftovers away."

By the time Blaine is done in the kitchen, Charlie is out of the cage, perched on its roof while Kurt replaces the cage liner and switches the chaff for fresh bird seed. Blaine steps into the room, but pauses just beyond the door when he sees Charlie staring at him, feathers all puffed up.

"Want some music, Charlie?" Kurt asks. He picks up his phone and scrolls through his playlists. "He likes these songs," Kurt tells Blaine as he picks out one that he put together last week. "Just watch."

Blaine sits cautiously on the far end of the couch while Kurt sings a few lines, then coaxes Charlie onto his finger. When _Defying Gravity_ comes on, Charlie takes off and flies around the room a couple times, then returns to Kurt's shoulder.

"He's forgotten all his dance moves," Kurt says, looking at Charlie. "He had this whole bob and wiggle thing that he was doing last week. But you got stage fright, didn't you?" Charlie stretches his neck and nibbles at Kurt's hair.

Blaine blinks.

"It's ok," Kurt says. "The hair spray isn't toxic by this time of night."

"You let him mess up your hair?" Blaine watches in disbelief.

"It seems to calm him down," Kurt explains. "I'll just give him a few more minutes out here, to see if he needs more exercise. Then I'll put him back." Charlie rubs his head against Kurt's chin.

Blaine nods, then gets up and goes back into the kitchen. Kurt waits until the tickling from Charlie's mohawk is too much, and then strokes his chest until he steps onto Kurt's finger and lets Kurt put him back into the cage. Charlie whistles and bobs his head as Kurt shuts the cage door and heads for the kitchen.

The dishes are almost done by the time Kurt gets to the sink and picks up a towel.

"I could have washed these," Kurt scolds. "You cooked."

"You were busy," Blaine shrugs. "And experimenting makes a mess."

"Well, I appreciate it." Kurt kisses the back of Blaine's head. "The food, AND the cleaning." He plucks a pot from the drying rack.

Blaine puts down the pot that he was scrubbing and turns into Kurt's arms, then gives him a kiss. "I dried the wine glasses already, but I didn't put them away," Blaine says. "You moved them to the top shelf again."

"Sorry," Kurt replies. "They were blocking the coffee cups."

Blaine turns back to the sink while Kurt picks up the glasses and reaches up to the top cupboard to put them away. When Kurt turns back, Blaine is letting the water out of the sink and grabbing a clean towel from one of the drawers. Kurt isn't sure who starts humming as they dry, but before everything is done, they're improvising a harmony around some absurd lyrics that Blaine makes up on the spot. After they've put away the more easily broken dishes, they take turns spinning each other around the kitchen, carrying pots with them.

When everything is neat and clean, Blaine spins Kurt towards him one last time, and Kurt riffs a typical jazz ending to their song.

"That's new," Blaine comments as they stand there, deciding whether to end their spontaneous number with a kiss. "Ellington?"

Kurt doesn't answer right away, because of course a kiss is the best way to finish this number. "I've been listening to a lot of jazz lately," he explains when they pull apart to breathe. "Charlie likes it."

They're interrupted by a squawk from the living room. Kurt turns towards the door.

"Could we just make out without the bird?" Blaine sighs. "For a little while?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Of course." He leans back in for another kiss.

But they've barely started exploring the aftertaste of the curry when Charlie squawks again.

"I need to..." Kurt apologizes.

"Fine," Blaine interrupts. "Just go."

By the time Charlie is finally settled, Blaine has already gone into the bedroom and has fallen asleep with a novel by his side. Kurt picks up the book, making sure the bookmark is in the correct place, then sets it aside, turns off the light, and climbs into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe that Blaine cooks: https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/coconut-braised-chickpeas-with-sweet-potatoes-and-greens (using spinach instead of kale)


	8. Chapter 8

_Can you take a long lunch?_ Blaine texts. _Maybe get something to eat together?_ He had still been asleep when Kurt left in the morning, so it was nice to see the message before Kurt's first meeting.

 _Shouldn't be a problem,_ Kurt replies. _Want to choose a place and make a date of it?_

 _That would be great,_ Blaine texts back. _I'll make a reservation._

*

Blaine is in a booth facing the door when Kurt walks in. Which maybe ought to be a warning - Kurt usually is the first to arrive at their dates. But Kurt just slides into the booth with an appreciative smile; Blaine has dressed for the occasion, wearing a bow tie that Kurt bought him a couple birthdays ago.

"We need to talk about Charlie," Blaine starts. It's a bit abrupt, but it's also cut off by the waiter's arrival to fill their water. Blaine thanks him politely, then looks at Kurt.

"What about Charlie?" Kurt asks. "I know he makes a mess overnight. Do you think I should clean the cage in the morning? I've been gone during the days, and hadn't even thought about what it would be like when you were home alone with him."

"It's not that." Blaine picks up his napkin and arranges it on his lap. "But you might have noticed... Charlie doesn't like me."

"Don't be ridiculous. Everyone likes you." Kurt drinks his water and shrugs. "I told you. He needs time to get to know people."

"Kurt." Blaine pulls out his phone, taps it, and hands it over. "I've been looking up information about cockatiel behavior."

Kurt mentally rolls his eyes, because sometimes Blaine gets like this. But he has learned, sometimes the hard way, that he needs to _try_ to listen, so he starts reading.

"The hissing, the feather-fluffing, the way he glares at me with his crest up..." Blaine leans across the table and points at a picture. "I've looked at a dozen different sites, and they all say the same thing."

"You just need to make friends with him," Kurt argues. "Play some jazz. Sing for him. Blaine, give him a chance and he'll love you."

"He won't," Blaine says, as if he is utterly certain. "You should have seen him this morning." He shakes his head. "Just look at this page, ok?" He takes his phone, taps it a few times, and hands it back to Kurt. "It sounds like Charlie thinks you're his mate."

"That's ridiculous." Kurt rolls his eyes. "He's a BIRD. I'm a HUMAN. This isn't some kind of insane avian love triangle. That would be IMPOSSIBLE."

"Kurt. Read it." Blaine nudges the phone.

Kurt sighs. "Fine." He starts reading, and... oh. Shit.

"Hey." Blaine taps Kurt's hand. "The waiter's here. Do you want your usual?"

"Sure," Kurt replies absently. "Thanks." He checks another page full of advice. "Ok. You're right." He narrows his eyes at Blaine's barely suppressed grin. "Don't be smug about it. I'm getting better about saying that."

"You are." Blaine shifts his expression to supportive, but mildly amused.

"But there's so much conflicting advice. And some of it is pretty homophobic. I mean, 'they'll _settle_ for a same-sex partner to raise young with'?????" Kurt frowns at the phone. "I don't even know what they're saying you should do. Should you take over feeding him and playing with him? Or should you stay away from him? I mean, you could sing to him and give him millet..."

"There's more consistent advice for the love interest," Blaine says. "Don't roll your eyes, Kurt. That's how he thinks of you."

Kurt freezes guiltily.

"Don't touch his head," Blaine continues. "Don't let him rub on _your_ head. Don't encourage him when he interrupts us while we're kissing..."

"I don't encourage him." It takes a moment for Kurt to shut down his defensive glare. "Do I?"

"You talk to him when he squawks," Blaine points out.

"Because he does that when he's stressed or lonely, I mean, that's how I got him to be my friend in the first place..." Kurt stops.

"It's a reward," Blaine says.

Kurt grimaces.

"I'll try singing to him," Blaine promises. "You're right that I haven't been home for very long. But I tried giving him some of those treat seeds..."

"Millet," Kurt supplies.

"Right. Millet. But he hissed at me again and tried to bite me. I don't think he's ready for me to feed him yet."

"Ok," Kurt reluctantly agrees. "I won't snuggle with the bird. And I won't interrupt our kissing so I can sing to him."

Blaine nods. But whatever else he was going to say is interrupted by the arrival of a basket of bread and olive oil.

When the waiter is gone, Blaine takes a breath and reaches for Kurt's hand. Kurt waits, fighting his instinct to deflect whatever is coming with some kind of cutting remark. This looks like something difficult. And Blaine _hates_ doing emotionally difficult things, even more than Kurt does, so Kurt knows that Blaine deserves his attention.

"What do you think about couples therapy?" Blaine asks.

Kurt blinks. "Blaine, I don't think that an overly affectionate pet is a serious threat to our marriage..."

Blaine shakes his head. "It's not that," he says. "But you know how those communication exercises have helped? I mean, I think we're better at talking about this than we used to be."

"We can still do them," Kurt says. "We can even go to different parks and call each other so we can avoid just jumping on each other when it gets hard." Innuendo only partly intended, Kurt realizes after the words come out.

"It might be easier with a schedule," Blaine points out. "With appointments."

Kurt nods. But there's something else wrong. A tightness around Blaine's eyes or something. "Why now?" Kurt asks.

Blaine sighs. "It's my parents," he says. "They've separated. I've been wondering if something was wrong, for ages, but especially after going to therapy myself. But they finally did it."

"It sounds like _they're_ the ones who need counseling," Kurt notes.

"Obviously," Blaine agrees. "But I just keep thinking about watching them while I was little, and how everything I know about relationships comes from them."

"And rom-coms," Kurt reminds him. "And all of your acting roles in plays and musicals. And reality TV."

"Acting it is different from living it," Blaine argues. "And you watch reality TV because actual train wrecks involve too much twisted metal and not enough emotional drama."

"Ok. Sure. I'll do it if you want to." Kurt frowns. "Do we need to do anything about our anniversary party? Because as much as I enjoy watching dramatic confrontations on television, I don't need them in our own family. And I know _you_ hate to watch public arguments."

"You've met my parents," Blaine points out. "Do _you_ think they'll get into a public shouting match at a party?"

"No," Kurt agrees. "They'll be excruciatingly polite." Like Blaine's father's RSVP, Kurt remembers.

Blaine nods. "The odds of Santana killing Rachel during a diva-off are higher," he says. "And we don't even know if Rachel can be there yet."

"But it will still be stressful for you," Kurt notes. "Because you'll be paying attention to every little interaction and worrying."

Blaine sighs. "There isn't anything I can do about it. I don't want to tell either of them to stay home."

"Maybe I can deputize Isabelle to entertain your father," Kurt suggests.

Blaine looks skeptical.

"Ok. Wes, then. Or a bizarre team-up between Wes and Sam."

Blaine's face starts to relax into a smile. "Darth Vader impressions _and_ a gavel."

"That impression was supposed to be Darth Vader?" Kurt frowns. He's sure he remembers the details of Sam's last visit. "I swore it was that robot, the awkward one with the letters and numbers...?"

"No, the line about _I am your father_ is Darth Vader. Trust me."

Kurt was sure Darth Vader was the one with the heavy breathing, but he's never really been able follow Sam when Sam gets on a roll. He shakes his head and refocuses, because sometimes, he needs to just drop things. He looks at Blaine and switches back to the more important conversation. "I'll warn Carole and my dad. Carole gets along well with your mom, and honestly, Carole would probably like having someone to take care of. These events can still be hard for her."

"That's a good idea," Blaine agrees. "Santana's mom will be there, too."

"I'm sure we can put Mercedes and Rachel in charge of planning a series of emergency duets to distract everyone if things get socially awkward," Kurt suggests. "And before you remind me that Rachel hasn't sent an RSVP yet, remember that she's going to time her announcement for maximum impact. She probably thinks that her understudy will be happier if she gets a last-minute chance to take the stage."

Blaine stops halfway through opening his mouth, then just nods.

"So tell me." Kurt leans forward and changes the subject. "What are you going to sing to charm our cockatiel? He likes _My Favorite Things_ , but maybe something from your show would be better..."

*

Kurt opens the apartment door and walks into chaos. There are feathers and bits of bird seed flung across the entire room, though the epicenter is clearly Charlie's cage. Blaine is standing on the couch, singing _Let It Be_ with the kind of pure desperation that would leave Kurt's stomach clenching in dread if the song were directed at him. (After all, while Blaine can put on any character he needs on stage, this level of emotion in a personal serenade is usually a sign of something _very_ bad.) Charlie is watching Blaine from the far side of his cage, body tense and tail fanned out and eyes glaring. Kurt wants to say something to defuse the situation, but he remembers Blaine's last warning at lunch: " _You have to promise to stay out of it, okay? No matter how badly it goes. Charlie will think that any kind of attention from you is a reward._ "

So Kurt just waves at Blaine and carries the grocery bag full of salad makings into the kitchen. Healthy food for the humans, plus a place where he can close the door and get the full recap from Blaine. Eventually.

The lettuce is washed, the carrots and bell peppers are cut up, and Kurt is about to add the cherry tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs to the mix when Blaine comes in and sags into a chair.

"That bad?" Kurt asks.

"Do you remember how to make Rachel's special tea?" Blaine groans. "The one for when her voice was tired?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "You've just come back from six weeks of performances, two per day sometimes, and your voice is tired from singing to a bird?"

"I wasn't in every single scene in the show," Blaine croaks. "And I didn't sing every song. This has been five hours. Straight."

Kurt grabs the electric kettle and fills it with water. "Rachel's concoction is disgusting. But we've got honey and lemon and some herbal teas. Do you want mint, or chamomile?"

"Mint would be wonderful," Blaine sighs.

Kurt finds a mug and a tea bag, then waits for the water to finish heating. "You know it took me three whole days before Charlie started singing back to me. And he didn't eat anything during that time, either." He pours the water into the mug and puts it onto the table, then hands Blaine a jar of honey and a spoon.

Blaine grimaces and swirls the tea bag in the water. "I swear that I sang Tony Bennett's entire songbook to him," he grumbles. "I didn't start with the Beatles."

"Maybe he needs a break." Kurt tries his best to be consoling. "Have some salad. Check your text messages. Rest your voice. And then after dinner, I'll help clean out the cage."

"He's going to bite me," Blaine mutters.

"You don't need to put your hand into the cage," Kurt promises. "Not to clean it. But you aren't going to want to stay in this apartment with that mess any more than I am."

Blaine finally nods. Kurt puts a salad in front of him, with a choice of dressings, and takes his own seat. They eat in silence. When they're done, Blaine makes himself another mug of tea, and Kurt gathers the dishes to wash them. There isn't much to clean up, so it doesn't take long. Blaine starts to perk up as he goes through his text messages and e-mails, quoting bits of the RSVP notes for their party.

When the dishes are clean, they brave the disaster area that used to be their living room.

Kurt preps the new cage liner and explains to Blaine how it works. Blaine approaches the cage cautiously, talking quietly, with Kurt behind him. Charlie looks suspicious, but stays on the far side of the cage while Blaine pulls out the bottom, folds the dirty paper, and stuffs it into the wastebasket that Kurt is holding. Kurt tucks the clean paper into the tray, hands it to Blaine, and watches as Blaine pushes the bottom back into place. Then it's time for the riskier action: replacing the water. Blaine keeps up a running patter (something about a nice bird wanting to drink, such a good bird, nice birds don't bite, it's going to be ok) as he reaches into the cage and pulls out the water dish. Kurt gives him an encouraging nod, then takes the dish into the kitchen to get fresh water, leaving Blaine alone with Charlie.

As soon as Kurt disappears, Charlie starts to squawk again. And although Kurt desperately wants to know what exactly is going on, he sticks to the plan: rinse out the dish, fill it with fresh water, and calmly return. Without talking. Or singing. Which is actually really hard.

Blaine gets the water dish reattached and withdraws his hand. And then the final test: a spray of millet. Kurt pulls some out of the bag of supplies, and hands it to Blaine, who has to get it into its holder on the side of the cage, near where Charlie is perched. Charlie shrinks back away from Blaine's hand, but at least he doesn't hiss. Or bite.

Blaine takes his hand out of the cage, closes the latch, and breathes.

They both sweep the floor around the cage, Kurt with the big push broom and Blaine with the little whisk broom and dustpan, but that is less stressful. Charlie watches, his mohawk up and curious, until they're done. But when they're finished and have gone into the kitchen to take care of the garbage, he squawks again.

Kurt looks at Blaine. Blaine shakes his head, then raises his eyebrows. And then, in silent agreement, Kurt and Blaine retreat to the bedroom.

*

They haven't even finished undressing one another when the squawking starts. Kurt freezes with his hands on Blaine's belt, and Blaine groans in frustration.

Kurt sighs. "I know," he says. "I know. It's just hard to listen to, when I can tell that he's upset or worried or scared, and I could make things better."

Blaine pushes Kurt's shirt open wider and nuzzles at his favorite spot on Kurt's shoulder.

"And I know you're right, he can't depend on me for everything, he needs to trust you, too," Kurt continues. "It's just... oh god yes, right there..."

 _Squawk_.

Blaine lifts his head. "It really is distracting."

Kurt nods and uses the pause to pull Blaine's belt loose, then start unbuttoning his pants.

_Squawk._

Blaine looks at him. "I know what we need."

" _Earplug_ s," they say in unison, separating with their pants half-opened to go search through their drawers. It's been a while since they've needed extra quiet, now that they don't have roommates and their neighbor who must have been doing some kind of industrial work in his kitchen has moved out. But Kurt's earplugs are still there, buried beneath Kurt's underwear, and Blaine finds his just as quickly.

They've always used the earplugs to block out the sounds of other people, never each other, so it's bizarre to have sex like this, to see that the other one is moaning something but not be able to hear it. But Kurt's brain can fill in the details: _that's_ the face that Blaine makes that goes with those satisfied little noises while his mouth is wrapped around Kurt's cock, and _that's_ the expression when Blaine is letting out a string of curses when he's nearly ready to come, and _that_ look means that Blaine is gasping Kurt's name while he falls apart.

When they're finished, they wrap themselves around each other and fall asleep in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

Charlie is quiet, head tucked under his wing, when Kurt and Blaine emerge the next morning. They decide that it's ok if they take turns singing in the shower - after all, Charlie is behaving, so Kurt's singing won't accidentally reward Charlie for acting out. Plus maybe if they sing duets, Charlie will decide that he likes it when they sing together. And then they can be a big, happy, musical multispecies family.

"Don't tell Rachel about this," Kurt warns Blaine as Kurt goes into the shower. "She'll probably try to get me to write a sitcom about it. _The Parrot Family._ " Blaine laughs and kisses him. When the water starts, Kurt hears him harmonizing on the other side of the door.

Charlie's mohawk perks up when he sees Kurt come out of the bathroom, but it deflates when Kurt gives Blaine a quick peck as Blaine prepares for his turn in the shower. Kurt dresses in the bedroom; even with the bedroom door closed, he can hear well enough to sing along with Blaine. And then they're both ready for coffee and breakfast, and Kurt stands by while Blaine carefully attaches a chunk of banana to Charlie's hanging fruit-kabob toy.

*

Kurt's morning at work is punctuated with texts from Blaine.

_No hissing. Yet._

_Took a break to drink some coffee and let Charlie listen to the White Album. I think he likes Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da._

_Actually, he only likes it when Paul McCartney sings it. I thought my Paul impressions were pretty good, but Charlie disagrees :(._

_Have given up and am just singing along with Wings. Seems appropriate._

And that's it for a while. Blaine is meeting his agent after lunch; if his show doesn't end up on Broadway, Blaine's going to need to audition for other roles. Right now everything's theoretical and uncertain, and Blaine needs to see what other opportunities are available. Kurt totally gets it.

They're meeting Santana and Brittany after work to go through the rest of the anniversary party plans. Blaine texts in the middle of the afternoon, saying that he's going to take a long walk and he'll meet Kurt at the restaurant. Kurt isn't sure, but it sounds like Blaine is avoiding going back to the apartment and dealing with Charlie. It's too bad, but they probably both need a break from one another.

Santana and Brittany have already started eating their pizza when Kurt arrives. Blaine isn't there yet, but he texted his top three options to Kurt already, so Kurt orders for them. While he waits for the pizza, Kurt systematically rejects probably a dozen insane suggestions from Brittany while he goes over the catering order. He's still making notes about newly recognized food allergies when Blaine slides into the booth and kisses him on the cheek. Blaine's satchel looks heavy as he drops it on the floor, but Brittany is suggesting a kind of orange-and-pink Hawaiian theme for the decorations based on some complicated numerology of hexadecimal color codes, and Kurt is too distracted to comment on whatever Blaine is carrying.

"What's the RSVP count?" Santana asks. "We can't decide on the mini-quiches or the salmon until we know how many people we're trying to feed."

"Twenty-five so far," Blaine answers. "Probably twenty-seven, if Kurt is right that Rachel and Jesse will let us know at the last minute."

"I'm right," Kurt mutters.

"Of course he's right." Santana's response is nearly synchronized with his.

"You should plan for twice as many," Brittany says.

Blaine looks surprised. "Brittany, I don't think we're even inviting fifty people."

Brittany shrugs. "Party crashers," she says. "Always plan for party crashers."

She's not wrong, Kurt thinks. Their friends are predictably unpredictable, and their acquaintances... well. "Mini-quiches it is, then," he says.

"Let me see the list," Santana demands. "Not the food list, Muppet-boys. I've already seen that. The RSVPs."

Blaine pulls a notepad out of his satchel and hands it to her. She runs a perfectly manicured nail down the side, frowning.

"How's Charlie?" Brittany asks.

"Fine." "He's fine." Blaine and Kurt answer at the same time, then look at each other.

Santana looks up from the RSVP list. "That bad, huh."

"He'll be fine," Kurt repeats. "He just needs to get used to all the changes. That's all."

Santana looks amused. "So he hates Blanderson, huh."

"Don't call him that," Brittany says. "You know they decided to hyphenate."

"He doesn't _hate Blaine_ ," Kurt replies. At least, Charlie _won't_. Eventually. Hopefully.

"Good, because if everyone on this list is actually coming, there will be plenty of drama without your pet complicating things," Santana says. "Especially because I told Kitty and Sugar that they could stay with you."

Blaine's hand stops halfway to his mouth. "Kitty and Sugar?" The pizza slice sags dangerously. "Umm. I already told Sam he could stay with us."

Kurt blinks. "We don't have room for three people. We don't even have couch space for one person, not with Charlie in the living room..."

"But New York is expensive..." Blaine looks apologetic.

Santana shrugs and hands the list back to Blaine. "I need to get to my band's rehearsal," she says. "Have fun figuring things out."

Brittany gives them a little wave as she follows Santana out the door. Kurt watches them leave, then sighs.

"I know I should have checked with you before offering the couch to Sam, but he talked to me about it a week ago, and he usually just crashes with us, and I forgot until today..." Blaine starts.

"I hope he likes having bird seed flung at him." Kurt shakes his head.

"He _does_ work with high school kids," Blaine reminds him. "But I can see if Artie or Joe or someone is willing to add a roommate."

"I don't even understand why Sugar _needs_ a place to stay," Kurt grumbles. "Isn't she rich? Maybe she can get a suite and everyone can sleep there."

"I'll check with her," Blaine offers, as Kurt keeps shaking his head. "No, really. I started this..."

" _Santana_ started this," Kurt reminds him. "We could have dealt with Sam." Maybe.

"I just had no idea that the living room was already taken, last week when Sam asked me..." Blaine slumps in his seat and rubs his temples.

Kurt sighs. "Should we just take the rest of this pizza to go?" he asks. "It's going to get dark soon, and we need to feed Charlie so his schedule doesn't get even more messed up."

*

They hear the squawking before they reach the door. Blaine doesn't say anything, but Kurt can tell he's stressed by the set of his shoulders and the way his lips press together.

"I'll take the pizza into the kitchen and grab the garbage can," Kurt says. "You find the clean liner paper. Let's get the cage clean first, and then give him some food. Then we can deal with everything else."

Blaine nods, though he doesn't look happy. The uncertainty about their potential houseguests bothers him; Kurt could tell from the way Blaine complained about his phone's lack of service in the subway when he tried to send a text to Sam. And Blaine's been a New Yorker long enough to know about the phone's dead zones.

Charlie goes silent when they open the door, mohawk up and cautious at first but flattening when he sees them.

"Talk to him," Kurt whispers as he carries the pizza across the room.

He hears Blaine saying something as Kurt sets down the box, then gets the garbage from under the sink.

"I'm going to give you a nice, clean floor, ok?" Blaine's voice is barely audible. "This is the paper right here. See? I just need to pull out the tray on the bottom of your cage..."

Kurt comes into the living room and holds the garbage can out, ready to take the dirty liner away.

"That's right. Nice bird. I know this is scary. It will be ok." Blaine folds the new paper and tucks it into the tray, then slides it all back into the cage. "There. That wasn't so bad, right?"

Kurt holds his hand out to take the water dish, then watches as Blaine opens the cage door, takes out the dish of eaten seeds, and empties it into the garbage. Charlie watches from the other side of the cage but doesn't do anything as Blaine pulls out the water dish and hands it to Kurt.

"I'll bring some kale, too," Kurt says into Blaine's ear.

Blaine keeps talking to the bird as Kurt refills the water dish and rinses off a piece of kale, then comes back into the living room and hands them to Blaine, one at a time.

When all of the food and water are in place and the cage door is closed, Blaine steps back and sighs. "Nice bird," Blaine says one more time. "Nice Charlie. Have some nice dinner."

Kurt leads the way back into the kitchen, then shuts the door behind them. "Do you want your pizza heated up, or cold?"

"Heated up, this time," Blaine replies. "Thanks."

"We've got some salad makings left from yesterday," Kurt says. "We can have something healthier than just pizza."

"That would be great." Blaine pulls out his phone. "I'll text Kitty and Sugar. Sam was meeting with a parent, but he says he'll call when he's free."

"Okay." Kurt grabs a plate and puts two slices of pizza in the microwave, then pulls out the lettuce, carrots, and tomatoes.

Blaine looks up from his phone, shaking his head. "Sugar already has a hotel room. She says she just told Santana that she was looking forward to some fabulousness. Which Santana apparently interpreted as _staying with us_." His phone buzzes again. "And I totally forgot that Kitty lives in Queens now." He blinks at the message. "Wow. That's really offensive."

"And that would be why we didn't realize that Kitty lives in Queens," Kurt adds. The microwave dings, and he arranges the pizza slices on plates with the miniature salads. "So Santana either misunderstood, or thought it would be fun to see us get worried." That leaves Sam. But Blaine already knows that.

They eat in silence for a moment. Well, mostly silence, interrupted only by Charlie whistling _Popular_. Kurt bites his lip and doesn't answer.

Blaine's phone buzzes again. "It's Sam," he says, standing up and walking to the other side of the kitchen. It's really not big enough for privacy, but Blaine always does this, anyway. "Hey," Blaine says. "Yeah, it's great to be home. Yeah, the party should be awesome. So... about sleeping on the couch..." He stops for a moment, listening.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, and Blaine nods back.

"Hey, Sam. Sam? Hold on a minute. Yeah. Yeah." He takes a breath. "Our apartment just got more crowded." He shakes his head at the phone. "No. NO! Well, kind of. Kurt got me a cockatiel." He stops for a moment. "It's a kind of bird, Sam. A small parrot." He smiles. "Yes, it was really sweet of him. Yes, I know. But Sam... SAM. Listen. He's not great with strangers." He rolls his eyes. "Not KURT. Charlie. The cockatiel." He laughs. "I know you like animals, Sam. It's not about you. I'm just worried that Charlie won't deal well with you sleeping on the couch." He pauses. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. Even if you're fine with it."

Kurt gives Blaine a worried look.

"Yes, Kurt's right here. Yes, I'll say hi to him for you. Look, Sam, I'm still eating dinner. I should go. I'm going to see if there's anyone else you can stay with this time, ok? Yeah. Bye."

Kurt waves his hands in a _come on, hurry up_ sign at Blaine. "Well?"

"Sam says he would be willing to sleep on our bedroom floor, and he doesn't mind if we have sex while he's in the room."

"You told him _no_ , right?"

"Of course I did," Blaine sighs. "You heard me."

"Well, it was kind of hard to tell, with all the _yes_ es and _no_ s." Kurt rolls his eyes. "And, I mean, that was Sam, so it's hard to tell whether you actually got the point across."

"I _know_ ," Blaine snaps. "And I also know that it wouldn't be a problem if I could just make friends with that damn bird."

Kurt takes a breath to calm down. Because when Blaine swears outside the bedroom, it's important to listen to what he _isn't_ saying, as well as what he is. "We'll figure something out." Kurt tries to be soothing.

But his attempt is interrupted by Charlie whistling again. First _So What_. Then a pause, as if Charlie's waiting. Then three descending notes, instead of two.

"You should just sing back to him," Blaine mutters. "That's a contact call. He's doing it to ask where you are."

Charlie whistles again.

"That's not _Popular_ ," Kurt says. "And it's not _So What_. I think it's..."

Charlie whistles again. Blaine looks at Kurt, surprised. Charlie's whistling _Let It Be_.

Kurt gives Blaine an impatient look, and Blaine finally, tentatively, sings back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Come Fly With Me (Frank Sinatra: https://youtu.be/HfQnc08dNng)
> 
> Expecting to Fly (Buffalo Springfield: https://youtu.be/s8EUL-O3hRA)
> 
> I'll Fly Away (I was looking for Gillian Welch & Allison Krauss from the Oh Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack, but found live Gillian with David Rawlings, and I love them too, and got dragged down a Gillian Welch rabbit hole, oops: https://youtu.be/KJuWGdcECMY)
> 
> Content warning: oblique reference to Finn's death. Everything in canon (except the five-years-later flash forward) is part of the background of this story, and Carole is in this chapter. In a story that deals with relationships that aren't always easy, it seemed wrong to completely ignore that. No matter how much she continues to live and love, part of Carole will always be a woman who lost a son (like Kurt will always be a boy who lost his mother, like Burt and Carole will always be two people who lost spouses and eventually remarried).

Kurt searches for playlists of songs about flying while Blaine tries to get Charlie to climb onto his finger. It's Blaine's idea: he wants to find appropriate duets to sing while they let Charlie out of the cage. And Kurt can't resist Blaine when he gets like this. So... time to search for ideas for songs.

"There you go," Blaine says to Charlie. "Easy, now. Nice bird."

Kurt looks up to see Blaine carefully pulling his hand out of Charlie's cage.

" _Come fly with me_..." Blaine starts to sing.

Charlie tilts his head and chirps his way through the first verse, then takes off for a loop around the room and lands on top of his cage as Kurt begins to sing the second verse. Before long, Kurt and Blaine are improvising a Sinatra-era dance and harmonizing through the bridge. When they're done, they collapse on the couch together. Song-and-dance duets are hardly anything new for them, but they haven't done one for an audience since they took a surprise trip to Lima for Burt's 50th birthday. It's fun.

They entertain Charlie with _Expecting to Fly_ and _I'll Fly Away_ before Kurt decides that they need to wrap things up and get Charlie settled down for the night. It's been a roller-coaster week for all of them, and it's not going to get better before the weekend.

*

On Thursday, Kurt is determined to get as much done at work as possible. The party is on Saturday, and he knows he'll have to deal with a million little party-related crises while he's at work on Friday. And that doesn't count whatever disasters Santana is going to precipitate.

It doesn't help that Blaine keeps sending Kurt videos of his impromptu performances with Charlie. Finally, after Blaine puts on a pirate costume left over from some Halloween party and starts singing Gilbert and Sullivan, Kurt silences his phone, with a warning to call the front desk in case of an emergency. Fortunately, for once, nothing goes wrong.

Blaine has dinner ready (and has bought a selection of fresh fruits and vegetables for Charlie) by the time Kurt gets home. They eat in the kitchen with the door open, singing back whenever Charlie whistles _Popular_ or _Let It Be_. After the cage is cleaned, Blaine stays in the living room and Kurt goes into the bedroom to spend a half hour doing some writing. He won't have time over the weekend, even if everything goes smoothly, and he doesn't want to get out of the habit. It's difficult enough to get started after four days off.

Forty-five minutes later, Kurt has words. And also a stiff back. He saves his work, closes his laptop, and changes into his pajamas so he can do some yoga stretches to loosen up.

The bedroom door unlatches with a soft click, and Blaine slips in. "Hey," he says. "You're done?"

"Yes." Kurt pulls himself out of downward-facing dog, stands, and rolls his shoulders. "How's Charlie?"

"Asleep." Blaine smiles and drops his satchel on the floor. "He tucked his head under his wing about half an hour ago."

"I didn't mean to kick you out of the bedroom," Kurt apologizes.

"It's ok. I've been reading." Blaine nods at the satchel.

"I never asked what you had in there, in all the party-planning chaos at dinner yesterday. Is that full of scripts?" Kurt asks. "How are they?"

"Ok," Blaine says. "Some of them have roles that I think I could do. Now I need to decide what to focus on for auditions."

"But...?" Kurt prompts.

"But I don't love any of them." Blaine shrugs. "How's your play going?"

Kurt shrugs back. "There are words," he says. "I don't know how many of them are good."

"You know I'll read it whenever you want," Blaine offers. "Or listen to you brainstorm. You haven't even told me what it's about, you know."

Kurt sighs. "I want to be more certain of the story before I talk about it," he says.

"You know I'll think it's wonderful." Blaine gives Kurt his best supportive smile.

"That's part of the problem," Kurt admits. "There's a pressure that comes with that expectation, and I don't need that right now. Not when I'm so unsure about it." He gives Blaine a pointed look. "Don't try to tell me that you wouldn't talk about it with Rachel. And once she hears about it, she'll be impossible."

"Why would Rachel bother you about it?" Blaine asks.

"Because she'll get convinced that it's the perfect vehicle for winning her inevitable Tony," Kurt sighs. "Before she's even read a word of it."

"Wait," Blaine frowns. "You're writing something for Rachel?"

Kurt shrugs. "I needed to picture someone. And if it actually comes together, having the Rachel-and-Jesse steamroller on my side might help it get staged."

Blaine's frown deepens. "I thought you were writing a play for yourself."

"I am." Kurt is a little defensive. Only a little. "I wouldn't be able to write otherwise."

"No, as a _role_ for yourself. Because nobody else is writing a ' _Kurt Hummel type'_. That's what you told me when you first said you were thinking of writing." Blaine sits on the bed and crosses his arms.

"Well, yes," Kurt concedes. "Eventually. But right now, I'm working on something that I hope could actually get produced." He rolls his eyes at Blaine. "Don't look at me like that. I'm being a realist."

"I thought we talked about this," Blaine argues. "You weren't getting roles, and you were going to write. You were inspired by that interview with Lin-Manuel Miranda."

Kurt sighs. "And maybe when I've got a MacArthur genius grant, I'll be able to write what I want."

"I'm pretty sure his MacArthur grant was after _In the Heights_ and _Hamilton_ ," Blaine points out.

"I'm just not that confident about this, okay?" Kurt turns and walks across the room to try to settle himself. "I need to get this one out first." He shakes his head. "Writing is _hard_. It isn't like performing. There isn't an audience to face down. There's just _me_."

"Okay," Blaine says.

"Okay?" Kurt looks at him, trying to figure out what he means.

"Okay," Blaine repeats. "I'll read it when you're ready. Or not at all. Whatever you want."

Kurt nods. "Thanks." He bends down for another stretch. "It actually wasn't as bad tonight," he admits. "The writing, I mean. Though I never thought typing would leave me with more sore muscles than dance classes ever did."

"Want me to rub your shoulders?" Blaine asks. "Like you used to do for me, during my finals? Remember that night when I stayed up for 24 hours to write a paper and then I couldn't fall asleep?"

"It was 36 hours," Kurt smiles. "And I was going to seduce you with a backrub."

"And I fell asleep," Blaine finishes.

"So are you trying to seduce me?" Kurt's smile turns coy.

"Or help you fall asleep more easily," Blaine says. "Either one would be nice."

"It would."

*

It's a good thing that Kurt got a lot of work done on Thursday, because Friday is absolute chaos. There's a stream of last-minute RSVPs (still not Rachel, but that's hardly a surprise), plus the bakery suddenly has questions about the numbers of vegan versus gluten-free hors d'oeuvres, and Santana just responds to all of his texts with insults rather than answers. Kurt doesn't even realize that he sent Isabelle a setlist in place of the revised article that he promised until she corners him beside the water cooler.

"Go home," she orders him. "You've been buzzing around like a worried hummingbird all day. A very tall, excessively caffeinated hummingbird. Though I like the green in your jacket. It works with that shirt."

"Thank you," Kurt replies. "I think. And I'm sorry that I'm distracted when I'm supposedly at work. But there's just so much to do."

Isabelle laughs and stands on her toes so she can kiss him on the cheek. "You know, Kurt, you don't need to hold the perfect anniversary party when you've got a perfect marriage."

Kurt forces his shoulders to relax. "Can I get my laptop before I leave?"

She shakes her head at him. "Of course. But then... go. Seriously. Just go."

*

A dozen bags of decorating supplies and one last visit to the bakery later, Kurt is home, watching his husband play with their cockatiel. Tomorrow will be... exhausting? Delightful? Beautiful? Drama-filled? Kurt doesn't know. But things are quiet. For now.

*

Burt and Carole have a late flight on Friday, so Kurt and Blaine meet them for Saturday brunch, rather than going to the airport. There's not much time; Kurt needs to supervise the decorating because god only knows what Brittany and Sam will create if he doesn't. (Sure, he could worry about all the others, too, but he knows Rachel will appear at the last minute, and most of the others will at least be tasteful, if boring.)

There are the usual hugs, and coffee, and a little back-and-forth about egg-white omelets while they get ready to order. Burt asks Blaine about his show, and Blaine tells stories about the out-of-town run. Burt replies with news from Congress that he's been saving until Blaine got home, possibly because Blaine is interested in the historical ramifications of everything, and possibly because Kurt would worry about the stress that the debates could place on Burt's heart.

They move on to talking about the anniversary plans after the food arrives. "Okay," Blaine starts. "You have to see what Kurt got me. Well, got _us_." He pulls out his phone and starts flipping through the photos. There are maybe twenty photos of Charlie - on Kurt's shoulder, on top of the cage, watching Blaine make funny faces.

"So the bird worked out." Burt looks at Kurt. "Good."

"I told you it would be fine," Kurt replies.

"It took him a while to warm up to me," Blaine admits. "But we're friends now." He plays one of the videos of Charlie whistling back while he and Kurt sing.

Carole looks delighted. "He's adorable," she says. "Are you going to start putting pet videos on YouTube?"

Kurt and Blaine look at each other.

"It might be good publicity..." Blaine says.

"The comments might be demoralizing," Kurt points out.

"You're the one who always tells me not to read the comments," Blaine says.

"Yes, but I've also learned not to put videos of myself on the internet," Kurt replies. "Or of my adorable feathery family members."

"Well, I'm glad it worked out," Burt says. "Speaking of family, how are your folks doing, Blaine?"

"They're fine," Blaine starts.

Kurt gives him a skeptical look. Burt notices, and raises his eyebrows at Blaine.

"Okay," Blaine says. "They've separated."

Carole looks sympathetic.

Burt nods slowly. "And how are you holding up?" he asks Blaine.

"I'm fine," Blaine shrugs.

Burt's skeptical face matches Kurt's internal reaction. Probably his external one, too, Kurt thinks, based on the way Blaine looks at both of them.

"They're adults. I'm an adult." Blaine shrugs again.

"You know you don't stop having feelings just because you've grown up." Burt nods at both of them. "They're still your parents. It just gets more complicated when _you_ want to take care of _them_ at the same time that _they_ want to take care of _you_." He salutes Kurt with a bite of his egg-white omelet.

"Their health is fine," Blaine replies.

"Physical health isn't the only thing that's important," Burt says. He puts his hand on top of Carole's and squeezes it. "And it's ok to take things hard."

"We're planning to go to couples' therapy," Kurt tells him.

Blaine flinches. Which makes no sense; it was his idea. "It's not that we're having problems..."

"Doesn't sound like you are," Burt says easily.

"You know we go, sometimes, honey," Carole adds. "Not all the time. It's hard, going back and forth between Lima and DC. But we've been going for years."

Burt looks at Kurt. "Remember when you told Carole about the grief counseling you heard about? Years ago?"

Kurt nods.

"We both went to that," Carole says. "And decided that it was good for us. For a lot of reasons. So we kept going."

Blaine looks relieved as he picks up his toast. Kurt passes the raspberry jam without being asked, and their fingers touch, comfortingly, for a moment.

"So how do you think the Buckeyes are going to do in The Game this year?" Blaine changes the subject. "I haven't been able to watch them live this fall."

And then Blaine and Burt go into some long argument that Kurt doesn't bother following. Carole smiles at him across the table, but just puts more jam on her toast and doesn't say anything.

*

"Feeling better?" Kurt asks. They're walking up the stairs to their apartment, ready to get all the decorations and head for the party venue.

"That helped," Blaine admits. "A lot. Your dad is really great, you know."

"Blaine Devon Anderson-Hummel," Kurt smiles. "Don't tell me that you married me just so you could get pep talks from my father."

Blaine's phone buzzes. He pulls it out and looks at it. "It's Rachel. She says she and Jesse are on the plane, and she can't wait to see us."

"And that's all we get for an RSVP." Kurt shakes his head. "Oh, Rachel."

Blaine laughs. "You were right."

"Of course I'm right." Kurt presses his lips together to try to suppress his smile. "But feel free to keep saying that."

"I will." Blaine grabs him and spins him into his arms. "And I plan to keep saying it for the rest of our lives."

Maybe it's because they are busy kissing, or maybe it's because they need to look for their keys, while they're still flying high from the kissing and the promises. Whatever the reason, they don't see the woman standing outside their door until they've nearly run into her. Her hand is raised, as if she's been knocking.

"Umm," Kurt says. "Hello?"

She turns and looks at them. She's wearing a short black dress, a brown leather jacket, and purple-streaked hair.

"That's our apartment," Blaine explains.

"Oh," she says. "Are you Kurt?"

Kurt steps forward. "I'm Kurt." He frowns at her.

"I'm Anna," she says, as if it's an explanation. When Kurt doesn't react, she adds: "You have my bird?"

A light goes on in Kurt's brain. ANNA. Anna-the-drummer's-girlfriend. Anna-who-went-to-LA.

"Your bird?" Blaine asks. "Charlie?"

"Yes. Charlie." Anna waits for a moment. When they don't respond, she turns toward the door. "I'm here to take him home."

From inside the apartment, Charlie whistles his descending whole step. _So What._

Anna smiles for the first time, and sings it back to him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is in a really bad mood in this chapter. And it's a tight POV, so he's not the world's most reliable narrator.

Charlie is gone.

Of course Anna took him. Her boyfriend - well, now EX-boyfriend - promised to _take care_ of Charlie while she was in LA. He wasn't supposed to _give the bird away_. And while that was perfectly good logic, it wouldn't have shredded Kurt's willingness to argue if Charlie had seemed scared, or confused, or aggressive. But Charlie hopped on his perch and lifted his mohawk and wagged his tail. And he sang. Not just whistled - sang. And Anna sang back to him.

Charlie was happy - no, elated - to see her. It was obvious. So they did the only thing they could: collected the bag of food that Santana had brought over (with new millet and birdseed) and helped carry the cage down to the street. Kurt fretted about having Charlie outside while Anna got a Lyft that was tall enough for the cage, but the wait wasn't that long.

And then Charlie was gone.

But now... now there's a party that needs attention, because if Kurt and Blaine don't get to the venue soon, Santana will probably break in, and Kurt does NOT want any part of the trail of destruction that will follow. And yes, that will mostly be the work of well-meaning friends, which will make it all the worse because Kurt will need to contain his need to yell at every single one of them.

Kurt shakes his head and screams. Internally, at least.

*

Kurt and Blaine are the first people to arrive at the party. Or the pre-party, for decorating for the real party. It's good that they're there first; it means that Kurt doesn't need to deal with confrontations between building security and Santana, or with their helpers giving up and going home.

They've found a ladder, laid out the strings of LED lights, and sorted the other decorations by color when their helpers start to arrive. Sam is the first, walking through the door with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Kurt points to the corner; he has already planned a place for people to stash their luggage, the same place where the band will eventually stow their instrument cases. Sam drops his bag, then hugs Blaine, then Kurt. When Sam is done slapping them on the back, Kurt lets Blaine deal with him.

"About the couch..." Blaine starts, tentatively.

"You can stay on the couch," Kurt cuts in. So much for letting Blaine handle it. Whatever. "It's not a problem."

Sam looks from Kurt to Blaine, then back. "What about your bird?"

"There's no bird." Kurt turns away and starts reorganizing the stack of folded tablecloths.

"But I thought..." Sam sounds confused. It's hardly anything new. Kurt ignores him.

"Sam. Let it go." Blaine's voice is quiet, then drops to a whisper.

"Oh," Sam says. "Sorry, guys."

"It's ok." Kurt wheels towards him, head up. "It's done. So you can stay on the couch. End of discussion."

"Well, actually, I talked to Mike Chang and I'm going to stay in his hotel room instead," Sam says. "Sorry...?"

Blaine says something to him, but Kurt decides to busy himself with sorting the flower arrangements.

*

Others trickle in and take on their duties as Kurt assigns them. Blaine supervises the hanging of the strings of lights, with help from Sam, Mike Chang, Wes, and David. (It is well-choreographed, as one might expect. And if there are a few heart-stopping dance moves involving the ladder, well, Mike can pull them off, and Blaine knows better than to imitate him. Most of the time. At least they don't need to call an ambulance.) Trent looks skeptically at his fellow Warblers and elects to help Tina, Brittany, and Santana move tables into place instead. Kurt gives them instructions, but is more focused on the work that Artie and Quinn are doing on the centerpieces; the folding is complex, and even though Santana isn't involved, Artie has a dirty-enough mind to create something sneakily inappropriate for a party involving adults and their parents.

It all goes smoothly until it's time to add tablecloths to the mix. It's not clear exactly how it starts. One minute, Tina and Trent are unfolding the cloths and stretching them over the tables, following the exact sequence of colors that Kurt had carefully planned. A moment later, Brittany is pulling them off and directing Quinn and Santana to rearrange them in some order that makes sense to no one but her.

"No." Kurt walks up to them and points at one of the tables. "What are you doing?"

"We need to arrange them in order of the modulo of the sums of their RGB hexadecimal codes, divided by five, because that's the number of our anniversary," Brittany insists. "Not divided by seven. That would be bad luck, because of the seven-year itch, which none of us are going to have because we all were together for at least two years before we got married, even if we were all broken up for some of that time..."

"NO," Kurt replies. "No. The colors are carefully organized to be coordinated and contrasting. They're based around the traditional color schemes for a fifth anniversary, but with actual TASTE involved. We are NOT using some INSANE numerological scheme..."

Brittany shakes her head, covers her ears, and walks away.

"All right." Santana steps forward and blocks Kurt from following her. "ENOUGH of the petty dictator bullshit, Evita. Brittany has every right to organize colors her own way."

"Not when it's INSANE," Kurt snaps back.

Brittany spins around. It isn't a dance move. "That's bullying," she says.

"It's not BULLYING to want an anniversary party that actually looks NICE, not like something that escaped from an asylum decorated by My Little Pony." Kurt glares at both of them.

"Stop it." Santana stares him down. "You're even more bitchy than usual. And I get it. You finally found something that liked you as much as your dancing boy toy does, and then the damn bird goes and interferes with your vanilla _my-husband-is-finally-home_ sex life. Fine. If I hadn't had an orgasm in two months, I would be bitchy, too, even at the people who were just trying to HELP by getting you a ridiculous PET and then helping you get RID of it so you can save your HOPELESSLY SAPPY excuse for a marriage. But there is no reason to take it out on Brittany, who just wanted you to have a little bit of joy in your pathetic, miserable life."

Kurt stares at her. "I'm not..." He doesn't even know where to begin.

But Santana is just getting started. "Brittany TOLD you to stop using that word."

Kurt blinks and tries to remember exactly what he said. The rest of the group has stopped working and has gathered around to watch, because of course they have. And they're distracting him.

" _Insane_ ," Brittany supplies. "I told you, that's bullying towards people with mental illnesses."

Kurt takes a breath. "I'm not _insulting_ anyone with a _mental illness_ , you know that's not what I _mean_..."

"No?" Santana replies. "And yet when Brittany asked you - nicely, because that's what Brittany does - not to use that word anymore, you promised. After you made _me_ promise to stop calling you _Lady_." She walks away, then wheels back. "And if you haven't noticed, _I_ stopped. Over a month ago. But _you_ didn't."

Kurt is about to answer when Sugar Motta walks in the door, looks at the scene, and claps her hands. "Oooo! Drama!"

Santana crosses her arms and looks at Kurt.

"Fight!" Sugar cheers. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Mercedes appears in the door behind Sugar. She looks _spectacular_. One-hundred-percent diva in a way that none of the others can match, not even Rachel in full upcoming-Broadway-star mode. Kurt is relieved that someone in this ridiculous high-school-throwback party has actually grown up into the person she was meant to be.

"What on God's green Earth is going on here?" Mercedes takes a quick glance at Sugar, who is still bouncing beside the door, and then stares at the stand-off between Kurt and Santana.

"Brittany doesn't like words that insult brains that are different." It's Sam, of all people, who tries to make sense of it all. "Somebody gave Kurt a bird, and somebody else took it away. Santana thought she was helping make the world a better place, except she's Chaotic Evil so it didn't work. And Blaine just wants everyone to get along."

"I don't think Santana is actually _evil_ ," Blaine tries to correct Sam.

"No, we talked about this," Sam reminds him. "Wes is Lawful Good, and Santana's his complete opposite, right? Remember when I took over as Dungeon Master when you got too busy for the game, with your show and all...?"

Mercedes holds up her hands. "Enough," she says. "Kurt, you know we all love you, but you need to take a break. Blaine?"

Blaine nods, then crosses the room until he's beside Kurt and can slip his hand through Kurt's arm. Kurt stiffens for a moment, then relaxes and removes his hand from his hip, just enough for Blaine to thread his fingers between Kurt's and rub his thumb along Kurt's wrist.

"Santana, Brittany, you should go, too." She looks at Quinn.

"I'll take care of them," Quinn agrees.

"But the decorations..." Kurt starts.

"We've got it," Mercedes promises.

Kurt gets ready to argue with her, but backs off when he sees the look on her face.

"Trust us," Mercedes tells him. "You see this style?" She gestures at her dress. "I promise not to do anything ugly. And everyone has your instructions already. Yes?"

Tina, Trent, Mike, and Wes all nod. Artie holds up one of the finished centerpieces.

"All right. Now go." Mercedes looks at each of them, ending with Kurt. "You can tell me the story about the bird later. But right now, your job is to calm down. And get dressed for the party. Because I know you've planned something fabulous." She waves her hands at them in dismissal.

*

The apartment is a disaster. Feathers. Bits of seed husk. A dried piece of kale that somehow ended up behind the couch. And Kurt isn't about to change his clothes until every bit of it is back in order.

"Help me move this couch," Kurt orders.

Blaine grabs the other side and lifts.

"No, to your right," Kurt corrects him. "I just need to vacuum under it..."

"Kurt," Blaine says.

"You know we won't want to deal with this when we get home tonight," Kurt argues as he turns the vacuum on again. "You're in the way. Move."

"Kurt," Blaine repeats. "It's ok. You can be upset that he's gone, you know."

Kurt stops and puts his hand on his hip. "I will. As soon as I'm done cleaning. Now, help me put the couch back." He frowns. "Although we should clean that rug, first."

"You are not going to beat a rug before we change for our anniversary party." Blaine sounds firm.

"But there might be feathers on it, or bits of seeds, I mean, did you see what a mess the millet makes..."

"Kurt." Blaine walks up behind him, wraps his arms around Kurt's waist, and kisses his neck.

"Stop distracting me," Kurt demands.

"It's clean, Kurt," Blaine says. "You've vacuumed this part three times already."

Kurt sighs. Blaine takes a step back and massages Kurt's neck.

"Better?" Blaine asks.

"It helps," Kurt admits.

"You know, Santana wasn't totally wrong." Blaine is hesitant. As he should be.

But Kurt sighs again. "I completely forgot about that conversation about insults," he says. "I didn't realize Brittany was so upset. I thought she was just..." He stops and shakes his head. "It's going to be really hard to stop saying that. Especially when faced with the Rachel Berry Experience."

Blaine laughs a little into Kurt's neck. "I know," he agrees, though Blaine has always been far too nice to use those kinds of insults, even with Rachel. "But I meant about the orgasms."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "As if we haven't had multiple orgasms per week. And I _know_ Santana is aware that phone sex exists, because she _talks_ about it. In excruciating detail."

"But maybe this would be easier if we just got each other off now, before we change." Blaine leans towards his ear and whispers. "We need to shower anyway."

It doesn't take any more encouragement than that. They undress themselves. Not the slow, sexy undressing of the first time they showered together. Not desperate or needy, either. Just the normal way they would undress when they're about to shower before a formal event. And then they step into the tub, one at a time. Blaine turns on the water and stands aside to let it warm, while Kurt arranges their shampoos and body wash in the correct order. It's casual and everyday, even the slide of soap-slick hands over their bodies, even the rubbing and pumping and gasping and release. When the water carries away the soap and the semen, it carries some of the stress, too.

But not all of it.

The apartment is still too quiet.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Happy Together (The Turtles: https://youtu.be/9ZEURntrQOg)  
> Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better (Annie Get Your Gun: https://youtu.be/WO23WBji_Z0)  
> Seven Year Ache (Roseanne Cash: https://youtu.be/hrUs_FWqj9s)

The ballroom - well, not technically a ballroom, but that's what it looks like now - is full of people when Kurt and Blaine return. The band is on a riser on one side of the room, warming up. The food is arranged on long tables on the sides. Kurt can't really see the small tables in the back, because they're obscured by the people mingling. Blaine settles his hand on the small of Kurt's back, and Kurt fixes a smile on his face as they enter.

The smile turns into something a bit more real as Kurt gets pulled into one hug after another, from his co-workers and Blaine's mother and Mercedes and a handful of Warblers and Kurt's dad and... at some point it gets to be too many to count. Rachel finds him with a shriek as Blaine shakes his father's hand, but before there's time for a conversation, Santana is summoning them by tapping on one of the microphones at the front of the room. Kurt and Blaine excuse themselves to take care of the formal welcome.

"Thank you all so much for coming." Blaine pulls the microphone off of its stand as the crowd quiets. "It means so much to all of us. I know that big parties aren't traditional for wedding anniversaries - especially for the early ones - but there were a lot of people who we wished could have been at our wedding, and, well... if you're here, you know the whole story."

The audience laughs. Blaine is addressing the entire crowd, with a seasoned performer's ability to include everyone. He doesn't look directly at his father, who is over on one side, talking to Wes, but Kurt is hyper-aware of the dynamic.

"Before we get started, we've got some thank-yous, plus a few reminders," Kurt continues. "We wouldn't be having this party if it weren't for the generosity of my boss, Isabelle Wright, who lent us this space." Isabelle smiles and puts her hands over her heart. "And thanks to Santana Lopez's band for backing us up."

"Hire us," Santana interjects.

Kurt looks sharply at her. It's still his turn to talk. "So. Reminders. The vegan and gluten-free hors-d'oeuvres are labeled. If you don't have dietary restrictions, please save them for the people who do. Also, we have a bartender and an open bar, but please remember that we're responsible for cleaning this place when we're done."

"Drink responsibly," Brittany adds. The McKinley alums laugh.

"As Kurt said, my band will be backing us up," Santana continues. "And we have a plan for the first set. I realize that this room is full of performance-obsessed divas, but if I haven't talked to you already, stay off the stage. We've got a karaoke machine for the set break and for later tonight, so chill the hell out and wait your turn to go wild." She looks at the others. "I think that's it." They nod. "So... please welcome to New York City, in a break from her national tour, celebrating her first Grammy nomination... Ms. Mercedes Jones."

"Let's dance!" Brittany puts down her microphone and leads Santana to the floor as the band counts down and Mercedes begins to sing. It's one of Mercedes' ballads, and Kurt and Blaine slip into their positions in each other's arms. For the moment, everything is good: one of Kurt's favorite voices is singing, his husband is wrapped around him, his friends and family surround them.

The band segues into one of Mercedes' more upbeat numbers, and their other friends crowd onto the dance floor to join them. The dancing turns into more of a group number as the songs continue - Mercedes and Artie, Artie and Tina, Tina and Sam. Mike ends up in the middle, teaching some new moves to Brittany, Blaine, and several of the Warblers. Kurt excuses himself to go get something to drink. He and Blaine are coming up near the end of the first set, and he knows he'll be thirsty before they're done.

"Congratulations." The voice comes from behind Kurt, and he spins around.

"Elliott!" Kurt pulls him into a hug. "I didn't think you were coming. Wasn't your band on tour or something?"

"Recording, actually," Elliott replies as Kurt grabs drinks for himself and Blaine. "In LA. I just got back yesterday. I forgot to RSVP, so I wasn't going to come. But Santana called this afternoon and said that Rachel had just confirmed that she would be here, and Santana wanted me to help her keep Rachel and Jesse from staging a musical coup."

"And you agreed?" Kurt raises an eyebrow. "I thought your new band was supposed to keep you out of all the drama."

Elliott shrugs. "Santana can be very persuasive."

Kurt sighs. "I know."

"So how are things?" Elliott asks. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"Blaine got cast in a show that opened out of town," Kurt tells him. "He just got back. I'm still working at Vogue."

"Any good auditions lately?" Elliott leads the way to the edge of the crowd.

Kurt shrugs. "Not really. I've been writing my own stuff, but haven't gotten very far."

Elliott nods and takes a sip of his beer. "How's your family?"

"My dad and Carole are good," Kurt says. "Dad's still proudly fighting the good battles in Congress, and running the garage, and promising to eat healthy. He and Carole are here, somewhere." He looks around, then points to the far corner. "What about you?"

Elliott shrugs. "Still single. Thinking about getting a cat or something, though it's hard to take care of a pet when the band is on tour so much."

"Tell me about it," Kurt sighs. "I adopted a cockatiel a few weeks ago. Pets are a LOT of work."

"But they're pretty entertaining," Elliott says. "A cockatiel, huh? What is that? Some kind of dog?"

"It's a bird. Like a parrot, but with a mohawk and orange cheeks." Kurt puffs out his own cheeks to demonstrate.

"So punk, but cute?" Elliott looks like he's trying to picture it. "Does it talk?"

"Whistles," Kurt says. "And sings a little. And dances."

"Sounds like the perfect pet for you and Blaine," Elliott laughs.

"He was," Kurt agrees.

" _Was?_ " Elliott frowns at him. "You're the writer, so I assume the past tense is for a reason...?"

"Turns out his previous owner didn't want to give him up after all." Kurt shrugs, trying to keep himself from getting upset again. "She was out of town and her boyfriend gave him away without asking her."

"Ouch," Elliott says.

"Yeah." Kurt agrees.

"I mean for all of you," Elliott corrects himself.

"She got the bird back, but doesn't have a boyfriend anymore." Kurt makes a wry face. "At least I've still got a husband."

"I'm sure that makes things easier in some ways. But still not good," Elliott says.

Kurt nods.

They're interrupted by Rachel grabbing Elliott's arm. "There you are," she says. "We're supposed to go on next, and we haven't even talked about how you're going to handle the harmonies."

Elliott waves as Rachel drags him away, talking a mile a minute.

Blaine joins Kurt on the side of the dance floor, sipping his drink while Elliott sings with Rachel, then Santana. They take a quick bathroom break while Santana, Brittany, and Quinn sing something, and then it's Kurt and Blaine's turn. When they're done, they bow, and Brittany and Santana join them for the last song before the break.

"I was thinking," Brittany says before they reach the mics.

It sets off all of Kurt's inner alarms, but he forces himself not to respond.

"We should have all the married couples dance to this one," she says. "Except us, obviously. But nobody else. Confirmed true love forever only."

Blaine looks up in alarm.

"But that's just your parents and my parents and... Rachel and Jesse, I think," Kurt points out. Though there might have been an engagement or two out there. Kurt isn't sure. It's hard to keep track.

"Blaine's parents, too," Brittany adds. "They should totally dance."

Kurt just shakes his head, but Blaine answers. "Brittany." He looks pained. "My parents separated. Please don't ask them to do this."

"Let's just sing," Kurt interrupts before Brittany can suggest anything else, and they start an absurdly bubbly version of _Happy Together_ , alternating verses, first Brittany, then Santana, then all of them, singing to their spouses on the chorus.

_I can't see me loving nobody but you_  
_for all my life_

By the time Blaine and Kurt are sharing the last few verses, the whole room is dancing, and everyone has forgotten about Brittany's suggestion.

*

The younger McKinley kids - well, they aren't kids anymore, either, they've all graduated - figure out how the karaoke machine works and take the stage while Santana's band takes a break. Kurt grabs a few mini-quiches and another drink and sits with Mercedes, Elliott, and Kurt's dad, while Blaine talks to Cooper, Tina, and Sam. Carole is still keeping Blaine's mother entertained, and Wes and David are chatting with Blaine's father. Rachel appears to have decided that the karaoke crowd needs coaching, or maybe just advice about their lives. It's hard to tell with Rachel. Brittany and Santana are together, talking to Mike Chang, Quinn, and Sugar. Kurt does a quick mental inventory of the food, and guesses that he's got maybe another fifteen minutes before he needs to find the hidden stash of cupcakes and cheesecake. He's listening to Mercedes and Elliott compare war stories about backstage catering at the Greek Theatre when Rachel grabs his arm.

"I need you to sing with me," she says.

Kurt shrugs and joins her on stage. When they're done, she drags him over to discuss additional song choices with Blaine, whose table suddenly emptied when Jesse commandeered Tina and Cooper, and Sam went to help the bartender replace the keg of beer. Rachel and Blaine take the next song, while Jesse talks to Santana. When Blaine's done, he goes to get another beer, and Santana and Jesse start the next duet. Kurt looks around for Brittany, and sees her talking to Blaine's mother. Santana shoots an amused look at Rachel, who shakes her head, turns on her heel, and hunts down Santana's keyboard player. Kurt glances back at Blaine's mother, who looks confused, and then looks for Brittany, who appears to be stalking Blaine's father.

Oh, no.

Kurt excuses himself - Sugar and Artie have joined him, but he wasn't really listening to them - and goes to find Blaine.

"Should we get the desserts now?" Blaine asks.

Kurt just points at Brittany. Blaine winces, then follows Kurt towards her.

"Britt-an-y." Kurt taps her on the shoulder. "What are you do-ing?" His voice is deliberately a bit sing-song, mostly to keep from sounding like he's making an accusation.

"Blaine!" Brittany says. "There you are. I just found out where your parents met. Now you just need to pretend to be twins, because Cooper is too tall to play the part, and besides he's not a good enough actor to trick them. You can do a British accent, can't you?"

Blaine blinks at her.

"No," Kurt says. "No no no no no." It takes a significant effort, but he manages not to tell her that she's crazy. "She's trying to play Parent Trap," he tells Blaine.

Blaine shakes his head. "Brittany, I'm pretty sure my mother would remember if she had twins."

"And you can't just _trick people_ into staying together," Kurt says. "Not like in the movies. Plus Blaine's parents aren't even divorced. They're just separated."

"But we need to keep them from getting divorced!" Brittany looks back and forth between them. "Right?"

"Brittany," Blaine says as gently as possible. "It's their marriage."

"Brittany, why are you so worried about Blaine's parents?" Kurt asks.

"Can't you see?" Brittany asks. "Santana's parents are divorced. Kurt's got a wicked step-mother."

"Carole isn't wicked..." Kurt shakes his head.

"That's ok, we all know how much you love Wicked." Brittany's smile immediately falls again. "My dad isn't really my father. And then there's Rachel and Jesse." She stares at Kurt, then at Blaine. "What if marriage just doesn't work?"

"What about Rachel and Jesse?" Blaine asks.

Brittany points at the stage, where Rachel and Jesse are facing off.

 _Anything you can do, I can do better,_ Rachel sings. _I can do anything better than you._

 _No you can't._ Jesse's arms are crossed .

 _Yes I can,_ Rachel stands as tall as she can.

_No you can't._

_Yes I can, yes I can!_

Kurt looks at Blaine. "Is something going on with Rachel and Jesse?"

Blaine shrugs. "The reviews for their show aren't very good," he says. "I don't think Rachel likes the way Jesse's directing her."

Kurt watches them. It's hard to tell what's real and what's acting. And they _were_ singing duets with other people. Though if they were actually cheating on each other, they probably would have chosen duet partners who weren't gay.

"Hey." Santana appears behind Kurt. He worries that he has accidentally summoned her by thinking too much. "The food is gone. Weren't there cupcakes or something?"

"Yes, just a minute, I put them out of the way..." Kurt turns and heads for the corner where the extra food is hidden under a tablecloth.

"I'll help," Blaine offers. He turns to Brittany to try to finish the conversation that they were having about Blaine's parents. "Please... just let me handle it. Ok?"

"I knew you could do a British accent!" Brittany calls as Kurt and Blaine walk away.

There are two large plastic boxes, one full of cupcakes and the other with cheesecake.

"There's a third one here somewhere." Kurt frowns. "What happened to the vegan, gluten-free desserts?"

"They're by your foot," Blaine says. "Let's take care of these first, and then I'll come back for them."

Kurt nearly has the desserts arranged to his liking when Isabelle taps him on the wrist.

"Sorry to bother you," she says, "but the building security keeps texting me. Apparently there's a seven-foot tall blonde in a track suit who claims that she's going to blow up the building if she can't talk to someone named 'Porcelain'?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I'll deal with her. Tell Blaine where I've gone, ok?"

"I found Blaine first," Isabelle said. "He headed down already."

*

Blaine is standing at the door to the building, arms crossed, looking up at Sue Sylvester. "No," he says.

"Oh, there you are, Porcelain," Sue greets Kurt.

"You don't actually have a bomb, do you, Sue." It's not really a question, but Kurt feels like he needs to ask, anyway.

"Of course not," Sue replies. "The real bomb is the excruciating performances that I know are already going on up there." She smiles at them. "Now why don't you two adorably nonthreatening-yet-still-mockable homosexuals let me into the building."

"You're not invited," Kurt says.

"Now, Porcelain. You've known me long enough to realize that a little thing like that won't keep me away. In fact, the lack of an invitation is practically a formal summons. It would have been rude of me to stay away." She pats Kurt on the shoulder.

Kurt pulls away and brushes off his jacket, then takes a breath to prepare for another round of insults.

Blaine steps forward. "Let me deal with her."

"Thank you, utterly harmless and mustache-free Tom Selleck," Sue says. "Now I need to give my regards to Brittana. I've missed torturing them."

"No," Blaine says. "Santana and Brittany don't need to deal with you right now. Nobody up there needs to deal with you."

Kurt puts his hands on his hips. "Why are you still obsessively stalking us?" He rolls his eyes. "At some point, we all need to leave high school behind. Even disgraced former teachers like you."

"Now Porcelain," Sue says. "You of all people should know that I'm looking at my life's greatest accomplishment right here." She waves her hand towards their skeptical faces. "The marriage of America's gay sweethearts-to-be! Assuming that Mrs. Porcelain's show opens on Broadway and you finally finish writing your play, of course."

"It's not," Blaine says. " _Your_ accomplishment, I mean."

Kurt just nods.

"Now seriously, do you think your wedding would have happened without my help?" Sue's smile is condescending. Literally. She bends down to look Blaine in the eye.

"Not on that particular day, no, the wedding wouldn't have happened." Blaine admits. "But you're missing the point, Sue. You _might_ have been responsible for the day and time of our _wedding_."

"Partly," Kurt amends. "It was mostly Brittany."

"Partly," Blaine agrees. "But regardless of how our _wedding_ happened... you're not responsible for our _marriage_. That's up to us." He reaches back and takes Kurt's hand, but keeps his eyes on Sue. "Go. Away."

Sue takes a step back. "This won't be the last you see of me," she warns.

"Well, _that's_ a given," Kurt mutters as he pulls out his phone to call Isabelle and ask her to contact the building security again.

*

"I liked that," Kurt says as he and Blaine walk down the hall towards their anniversary party. The strains of some song escape from the room - _Seven Year Ache_ , sung by Sam and Kitty, maybe? or those Cheerios twins, the ones whose names Kurt can never remember? It doesn't really matter, not as much as his conversation with Blaine. "The part about a wedding and a marriage being different, I mean."

"Thanks," Blaine says. "I've been working on that one for a while."

"Don't ruin the moment." Kurt nudges him as they reach the door and look in. Most people are dancing, and the refreshments table... Kurt's face falls. "Oh, no. The cheesecake is already gone."

Blaine tugs him towards a pile of supplies off on the side of the room. "Actually, I was worried that might happen." He digs under a spare tablecloth to find a plastic box, then lifts it up to show Kurt. "I made sure some cheesecake got saved for you."

"You're wonderful." Kurt moans as he takes a bite. "Marry me."

Blaine laughs. And then he waits until Kurt has finished eating before he kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one more chapter after this one? Depends on whether the characters are excessively chatty.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't wait to get to the comfort part.

Their friends send Kurt and Blaine home before the clean-up is done.

"You threw the party," Rachel says. "We'll clean things up."

"And you know that we're just letting Rachel think she's in charge," Mercedes whispers. "Don't worry, Kurt. We've got this." Sam and Tina nod.

So Kurt and Blaine sit in their bedroom and give each other their anniversary gifts before changing into their pajamas. They had promised each other that they would keep it simple; the party was enough work. A scarf that is as soft as it is lovely; a silk bow tie. But as Kurt is folding his new scarf and tucking it into a drawer, he finds the toy he had bought for Charlie, hidden in the back, where he could bring it out and let Blaine give it to the bird.

Blaine plays with it, like Kurt knew that he would. And then he puts it away.

*

Kurt sits in the diner, waiting for Rachel. Blaine is at a fancier restaurant, eating breakfast with his father. (It's better this way. If Kurt had been along, Blaine and his father would have gotten trapped in a dance of exquisite politeness. This way, maybe they will actually talk.)

"Hello!" Rachel sweeps in and kisses Kurt on the cheek. "Been waiting long?"

Kurt gives her an amused look. "Only fifteen minutes. Better than normal."

She takes off her hat and sets it on the seat beside her, then waves to the waiter for coffee. "We didn't get to talk very much last night," she says. "And I hear that I missed _drama_."

Kurt just lifts an eyebrow at her. "You'll need to elaborate," he replies.

"While you were decorating." Rachel swats at him with her napkin. "You and Santana. And something about a bird?" She folds her hands, looks at him, and waits.

"Santana convinced me to adopt a cockatiel," Kurt starts. "Charlie. He belonged to the drummer in her band. Except Charlie didn't really belong to the drummer - he belonged to the drummer's girlfriend. Who had gone to LA." He shrugs. "Not permanently, it turns out. When she got back, she came and took him."

Rachel adds a splash of soymilk to her coffee. "I've never seen you as a pet person," she says. "Do you remember what you said when I wanted to adopt that little dog?"

"That was a _puppy_ , Rachel," Kurt reminds her. "A _Newfoundland_ puppy. It wasn't going to _stay_ little."

"They said it was the kind of dog in Peter Pan," Rachel pouts. "I was sure you would like it."

"It would have shed everywhere," Kurt says. "And turned my clothes into chew toys."

"So birds are better?" Rachel asks. "Less messy?"

"Oh, no," Kurt laughs. "Birds are a disaster. Feathers everywhere. Bits of seed. They'll even unravel sweaters if you aren't careful."

"But they sing." Rachel gives him a knowing look.

Kurt sighs in agreement. "But they sing."

Rachel watches him for a moment, then sits up straight. "Well," she says. "What are you going to do about it?"

Kurt blinks at her.

"She gave Charlie up," Rachel says. "He clearly belongs to you and Blaine now." She shakes a finger at him. "I will not let you back down from a fight about this, Kurt Hummel."

He looks at her.

"Anderson-Hummel," she corrects herself. "Sorry. That just sounds so weird when I say it."

"It's been _five years_ , Rachel." But she's not going to change. Kurt doesn't know why, but he loves that about her.

"That's beside the point." Rachel isn't one to let things go. Whatever they are. "Kurt, adoptions have a clear legal framework and you and Blaine have _rights_."

"It's a _bird_ ," Kurt reminds her. "Not a baby."

"Same principle." Rachel folds her arms.

Kurt shakes his head and sighs. "No, it isn't," he says. "I never signed anything. And..." He rolls his eyes. "Rachel, you don't get those kind of adoption papers when you get a pet. Not from a friend of a friend, at least."

"Maybe you should," she insists.

"Rachel, leave it." But Kurt knows there is only one way to get Rachel to drop a topic. "So... you and Jesse have some differences of artistic opinion?"

Rachel takes the bait. Of course. Because Rachel will always talk about herself. "You wouldn't _believe_ the choices that he made. Changing the key of one of my songs because my scene partner couldn't keep up. Cutting my lines short. Making me sing while lying down." She shakes her spoon at him. "While lying down, Kurt!"

"The reviews were bad, huh." Kurt nods sympathetically.

"The worst in _years_ ," Rachel confirms. "It makes me wonder... should I have married him?"

Kurt tilts his head. "Would you even be asking that question if the reviewers had liked his decisions?"

Rachel frowns at him. "What are you implying?"

"Just that you can't judge your marriage by the things other people say about it." Kurt takes a sip of his coffee.

Rachel visibly deflates. " _Don't read the comments_ ," she says. "I know."

"Life as a performer is hard," Kurt says gently. "We all know that. You put your heart out there for everyone to see, and sometimes it gets torn to pieces and handed back to you, crushed and bloody."

Rachel looks horrified. "That's disgusting."

Kurt grins. "I know."

"But it's easy for you to say that," Rachel points out. "You've been with the love of your life since you were seventeen. _Seventeen_ , Kurt."

"And we broke up," Kurt reminds her. "Twice. You were there to see the wreckage. Both times."

"I didn't go through that with Jesse," Rachel worries.

"There's no single, perfect way to start a relationship, Rachel," Kurt says. "Of course, I'm not promising that everything's going to work out between you and Jesse." He grimaces. "I don't even like him that much."

Rachel laughs.

"But if your problem is with your creative partnership... well, you've worked with him on every single show that you've been in since college." Kurt shrugs. "Maybe you should branch out. Find some other collaborators."

Rachel frowns at him. "Like that TV show? Because that was awful."

Kurt shudders. "No. But you realize that there's a middle creative ground between playing it safe and throwing everything away, don't you?" He reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Don't be afraid to take risks just because they haven't always worked out."

Rachel nods, then gathers herself as if to take a leap. "So tell me about this play you're writing."

Kurt shakes his head at her. "You clearly need more practice changing the subject, Rachel. Especially when you have to focus on someone else."

Rachel lifts her head. "I'm not trying to change the subject," she says. "I want to know. Blaine says you've been working hard, and that I need to make it very clear that he didn't tell me about it."

Kurt rolls his eyes. He'll have a conversation with Blaine about the precise meaning of _'don't talk to Rachel about this,'_ because he doesn't think he got the point across. "Yes," Kurt says. "I've been writing."

"About what?" Rachel leans forward. "Come on, Kurt. Tell me."

He leans back. "I don't want to, Rachel."

"Fine, then," she says, tossing her head. "Be that way. Cut yourself off from all the love and support that you need and deserve."

"Rachel," Kurt sighs.

"Kurt." She shakes her head at him. "I want to read it, you know."

"Even if it's awful?" Kurt crosses his arms.

"Since when have you done anything awful, Kurt Hum... Anderson-Hummel??" Rachel stares him down. "Seriously. You're a perfectionist, Kurt. You don't let other people get away with mediocrity - and I love you for that, you know I do. But you're even harder on yourself than you are on the rest of us. _Let me read your play._ "

Kurt narrows his eyes at her. "You're sure Blaine didn't put you up to this."

"Of course not. He just said that you had been working a lot, between your job and the party and your play." She looks suspiciously at him. "Why?"

"No reason," Kurt replies. He closes his eyes for a moment. "If I make you a promise, will you let me alone? For now?"

Rachel nods eagerly.

"You will be the second person who gets to read my play." He raises his hand to stop her from taking offense. "After _Blaine_ , Rachel. After Blaine."

She nods, then holds out her hand. "Pinky promise?"

Kurt laughs. "Pinky promise."

*

~ six weeks later ~

It's been another one of those days at work. Kurt had a deadline for an article, and then the latest intern quit unexpectedly, and Kurt had to figure out what he had left unfinished. To make matters worse, Rachel has been calling all day, alternating squeals and criticisms of the draft of Kurt's play. And he only gave her one act. One. Act. He finally gave up and silenced his phone, because he just couldn't deal with her anymore. Blaine knows to call the front desk if there's an emergency, and Carole and Burt know to call Blaine. Everything else can wait.

Kurt glances at his phone, sees the ridiculous number of voicemail messages, and stuffs the phone back into his pocket. It's cold out. He wraps his scarf around his neck as he exits the subway, then tightens his shoulders and lowers his head. The walk home isn't that long, but it's windy. At least Blaine is cooking tonight, after having several busy days of auditions and one promising callback. Kurt is looking forward to a quiet night at home.

He is still unwrapping the scarf as he opens the apartment door. Which is his best excuse for not noticing Elliott right away.

"Kurt!" Elliott stands to give him a hug.

"Hi!" Kurt hugs him back, then pulls off his coat and heads for the closet. "I thought you had already left for your tour!"

"Tomorrow," Elliott says. "You didn't check your voicemail, did you." He gives Blaine a worried look.

Kurt narrows his eyes. "Why." He glances at Blaine. Kurt trusts him. Really, he does.

"You know that I brought in a bunch of new musicians to back us up when we recorded the last album," Elliott says. "The one that we're touring for."

Kurt nods.

"Well, they're joining us on tour. Except one of them called me last night and wanted to back out at the last minute," Elliott explains.

"She had a pet that she couldn't leave behind," Blaine adds. He looks excited.

"And I remembered the conversation that we had about pets," Elliott continues. "Remember, when I said I was thinking about getting a cat?"

Kurt glances at Blaine, who is practically bouncing. Oh, god. Blaine broke down and agreed to take someone's dog. Or cat. Or ferret. Are ferrets even legal in New York City?

"I've been trying to call you all day," Elliott says. "But I finally just called Blaine. And he was sure you would be okay with all of this."

A knock on the door interrupts Kurt's attempt at a response.

Blaine answers it. Kurt doesn't recognize the person immediately, what with the hat and scarf and blanket-swaddled... what, exactly, is she carrying?

She puts down her burden and unwraps her head, revealing blonde hair with green streaks. But she looks familiar, under her eyeliner and unfortunate dye job.

"Kurt, Blaine, you've met Anna, right?" Elliott says.

The blanket-covered package starts to whistle. A descending whole step. Anna sings back to it.

Kurt stares.

"You took such great care of him last time," Anna says, as she starts to remove the duct tape that holds the blanket in place.

Kurt kneels beside the cage. "Hi, Charlie..." he says carefully.

Charlie's mohawk curls forward cautiously. He tilts his head, looking at Kurt with one eye. And then he starts to bob his head and wiggle his tail and chirp. And then he whistles.

 _Pop-u-lar_.

Kurt smiles at him and sings back. Charlie looks around the room, mohawk curling and uncurling.

"He doesn't know what to make of you," Anna says to Elliott.

"Most people don't," Elliott shrugs.

But then Charlie sees Blaine and does a little side-stepping dance, whistling _Let It Be_. Blaine grins.

"Wait," Kurt says. Blaine stops, his hand almost at the door of the cage. "What is the plan, here? How long is he staying with us this time?" He pauses, then tries to soften the question. "So we know how much food to buy, I mean."

"Elliott and I were just talking about that," Blaine says. "You know that cockatiels live for ten to fifteen years in the wild, don't you?"

"Up to 25 years when they're pets," Anna corrects him.

Elliott nods. "And all of you have to travel a lot," he adds. "Anna goes on tour, Blaine has shows out of town..."

"I visit my dad," Kurt adds. "And go to see Blaine's shows on the road."

"And you might have to go on the road yourself," Blaine says. "If that play of yours gets produced. Or maybe not that one, but the next. Or the one after that."

"So I suggested to Blaine, and to Anna... maybe you could all share the bird. Or something." Elliott looks at Kurt. "I tried calling you to see what you thought, but you didn't answer. Blaine was certain you would say yes."

"Joint custody." Kurt looks at Charlie. "What do you think?"

Charlie bobs and whistles.

"He keeps singing stuff that I don't know," Anna says. She shrugs. "I think he's polyamorous or something."

"Or maybe he thinks we're all his flock," Blaine suggests.

Kurt nods slowly. "But we need a plan," he says. "A schedule. Alternating weeks, or a calendar that shows who is traveling when." His brain starts whirring. "And we are absolutely buying him a new cover for his cage. That blanket is hideous."

Anna frowns at him.

"That's the way Kurt shows affection," Elliott tells her. "Don't worry about it."

*

Charlie's head is tucked under his wing, and the cage is covered by a somewhat-less-hideous blanket in case of drafty winter air, and Kurt has ordered a more aesthetically pleasing cover for the cage, and...

"Come to bed," Blaine calls.

Kurt sighs and toes off his slippers. "I just can't remember whether there was water in his dish," he frets.

"There is," Blaine says. "I filled the water after we did the dishes. Remember?"

"Right." Kurt pulls down the sheets on his side of the bed, then looks up.

Blaine is watching him. The look on his face doesn't match the comforting tone of his reassurances.

Kurt frowns. "What?"

"Twenty-five years," Blaine says, like he has never contemplated that length of time before.

"It's a long time," Kurt agrees.

"We'll be almost as old as our parents in 25 years." Blaine turns onto his side so he can face Kurt more easily. "A lot can happen."

Kurt nods. "Are you regretting making that kind of commitment?" he asks.

Blaine looks at Kurt. "No. You?"

Kurt smiles. "No," he says. "I think we're good."

 _For that long_ , Kurt thinks. _And longer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been about a year since I decided to check out this old tv show, as a little light-hearted escape from everything. It's been a little more than six months since the world slipped from yikes-this-is-getting-bad to how-the-hell-did-we-end-up-in-a-poorly-plotted-dystopian-story-anyways. I've enjoyed playing in this fandom during this incredibly scary time, and I appreciate people's patience with someone who doesn't know the old arguments, rumors, interviews, fanon, tropes, etc.
> 
> I need to go off and read the things that have piled up while I've been playing here. Kurt and Blaine are wonderful, and maybe I'll come back to them again. But I need to do some other things before I go chasing any more plot bunnies.
> 
> It's been fun. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Edit for more notes:  
> I was re-reading this (thinking of writing something related), and then read this: https://www.tor.com/2020/10/20/never-say-you-cant-survive-a-strong-narrator-can-help-you-weave-a-spell-of-protection/ . I don’t think I succeeded in using the narrative voice effectively in this, especially at the end. I was deep in Kurt’s POV, and I didn’t give enough context for what was going on during the party, or talking to Rachel, or when Charlie came back. But writing fanfic let’s me learn, and try to do better next time.


End file.
